


Never Leave Your Heart Alone

by Amaria_Anna_D



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Korean War, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/pseuds/Amaria_Anna_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1964, and Frank Castle is a war veteran and widower living above his auto shop.  His life is mostly solitary by choice, but for some reason he can't stop thinking about the red haired lawyer he met over a decade ago. The pair run into each other by chance, and he isn't quite willing to admit just how much he feels for Matt. Matt Murdock, on the other hand, has spent years surrounded by his loving adoptive family--the Nelsons--and his close friends Foggy and Karen. His life is orderly and safe, but he's keeping more than a few secrets from them--secrets he finds himself sharing with only Frank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Daredevil characters in this story are VERY heavily based off of their 1960's incarnations and not so much the TV show. For his part, Frank is more taken from the show than the comics. I needed another WIP like I needed a hole in my head but here it is anyway.

Never Leave Your Heart Alone

 

Chapter 1

 

_New York, 1951_

 

Matt tugged at the uncomfortable tie his foster mother had insisted he wear and shifted nervously in his seat. The school dance was the absolute last place he’d wanted to be that night, but Mrs. Nelson had all but commanded both boys go. She said it would do Foggy good to dance with some pretty girls and that it would do Matt good to get out of the house like “normal” teenagers do. Their friend Karen had dragged Foggy off to the dance floor not ten minutes after they walked through the door, so it seemed Mrs. Nelson got half of her wish. Sure, Karen had asked Matt to dance too, but it was in that pitying tone she always used around him. They both knew it was probably the only offer to dance he’d get all night. It wasn’t like he could pick a girl out across the room and sweep her off her feet like they did in the movies—or at least the way he’d heard it described. Matt wasn’t prone to bouts of self-pity, but sitting along the gym wall listening to an off key band playing while most of his classmates danced, he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey, buddy!” Foggy called, breathlessly with the sound of Karen’s high heels in his wake. “I’m gonna go grab Karen some punch. Want some?”

Faking a smile Matt nodded. He grabbed his cane from beside the chair and stood. “I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs and giving you an extra hand.”

Foggy’s elbow nudged at his side, and the pair made their way across the gym. Along they way, Matt caught laughter and dozens of conversations all running together with the music. He could smell cigarettes and other headier smoke scents as they moved through the crowd mixed in alongside a multitude of perfumes and pomades. What really struck him though was that it seemed that even in the midst of all of the fun, he was the odd man out still.

“What’s with the long face?” Foggy asked. “It’s not another one of your headaches, is it?”

“Headaches” was the word Matt had been using to cover up the truth that sometimes all of the things he could sense just became too much for him. Ever since the accident when he was a kid, it was like his remaining senses had gone crazy to make up the difference. There were even times when it was almost like he could “see” through them. None of it made any sense, and rather than try explaining it, he’d come up with the excuse of having “headaches.” He’d hated lying to his father and now to the Nelsons—especially Foggy—but he couldn’t think of another way around it.

“Not really,” Matt admitted with a sigh. He shrugged. “I guess I’m just not the type of guy to enjoy a school dance.”

“Karen was upset that you wouldn’t dance with her,” his friend told him as if it made any difference. “She did promise she wouldn’t let you crash into anything, and she knows you won’t be such a swell dancer.”

“I guess I could give a try, so long as she understands,” he replied reluctantly. Biting his lip, he managed to avoid saying that it was that kind of _understanding_ that drove him crazy around Karen. Matt knew she meant well enough, but she somehow always managed to shine a spotlight on all of the things about him that were different or wrong. He never felt near as handicapped as he did around Karen Page. Foggy didn’t understand how Matt could pretend not to know how the girl felt about him, and Matt couldn’t explain it to him. He wished the two of them would just go steady and leave him out of it.

As he’d suspected, Karen jumped at the chance to drag him around on the dance floor a few minutes later. He barely had time to finish his punch before she was charging into the crowd with him in awkward tow behind her. Without warning, she grabbed his hands and placed them where she wanted them. By now, the cloying scent of her rose water and hairspray had made its way into his nostrils making his nose twitch. The heat of her skin felt like it was burning through the silk dress beneath his hands. It felt like they were too close, and he instantly wondered if the chaperones were watching. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks, and she giggled.

“You look so embarrassed, Matt! But you don’t have to be,” she purred softly into his ear. He supposed a lot of guys would have been excited to have a girl so willing to let them put their hands on her, but he wasn’t like a lot of guys.

“Are you sure we should be this close?” he asked nervously.

Giggling once again, she leaned in even closer. “It’s easier for me to lead this way. I’m sure no one will think anything of it.”

He made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat and tried to focus his attention on anything other than Karen. Letting himself be lead to-and-fro in small circles, he listened to the sounds out in the parking lot. He could hear Sandy Jenkins and Harry Thompson making out in the back of a car and that wasn’t much better than what was going on inside. Pushing his ears to strain further, he heard the rumbling of a motorcycle in the distance. The steady grumbling growl was an oddly soothing sound. As it came closer, it almost drowned out the sound of the music until the engine stopped not very far from the gym. There were heavy steps and the sound of the kick-stand groaning under the weight of the bike. The rider must have been close to Sandy and Harry because their hanky-panky came to a sudden halt. Matt was so caught up in those booted steps that he stumbled and stepped on Karen’s toes as the song ended.

“Ouch!” she cried.

“Sorry,” Matt muttered sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s not your fault, Matt,” she hastily assured him. “You’re not too bad of a dancer at all. Foggy stepped on my toes at least a dozen times.”

It was a lie. Matt could hear her heart skip, but knew he’d never be able to call her out on any of it. Instead, he followed her like a good dog back to the same seat he’d been in earlier. He vaguely listened as Foggy attempted to flirt with Karen for a few minutes, but he could still hear the echo of those booted steps pacing back and forth outside. He wasn’t sure why he was even still listening to the person outside of the school, but for some reason, his interest was piqued.

“Get your ass out here, you sissy, little worthless shit,” the person growled angrily, unaware that anyone could hear him. Much like the rumbling of the motorcycle, there was something about the sound of that voice that called to Matt. He could recognize the depth of anger in the words, but more than that he could hear the pain.

“I think I’m going to get some air,” Matt said suddenly.

“Sure, pal. Let me grab my coat, and I’ll go with you,” Foggy offered.

Reaching out a hand to keep him in his seat beside him, Matt shook his head. “Go ahead and dance some more. I’ll be fine to walk myself out. It would be a shame to waste the night babysitting me.”

“If you say so,” Foggy agreed. He was trying to sound nonchalant, but Matt could hear his excitement racing through his veins. His crush on Karen had started years ago and was still going strong. Any chance he could get to spend time with her without the usual third wheel around, he would gladly take.

Making his way toward the door, Matt paused to hear Karen haranguing Foggy. “You shouldn’t have left him wander off alone like that!”

“Matt knows his way around the school pretty well. It’s not like he’s stumbling around in the middle of the street. Try to give the guy a little credit,” Foggy huffed. Hearing his friend stand up for him brought a smile to his face as he walked out into the cool night air.

Though it was early May, the air was still filled with the last bite of old man winter. A late April snow had left a chill in the city that Matt actually enjoyed. Breathing in deep, he caught the scents of engine grease, leather, hair pomade, soap, and stale smoke all mixed together as they moved along in the breeze. The combination should have been noxious, but instead was oddly sensual. His scent was more enticing than any girl’s perfume had ever been.

“Isn’t it a little dark for those shades?” a voice drawled. The deep, even rumble of his voice reminded him of an impending storm. His pacing stopped, and there was a telltale thud against the brick wall as a heavy body leaned against it.

Matt grinned and folded the fore mentioned glasses before shoving them in his jacket pocket. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or another if it’s dark,” he replied, holding out his cane for good measure.

The stranger snorted. “Sorry.”

“Do you go to school here?” Matt asked, knowing full well that he didn’t. “I don’t recognize your voice.”

“Nah. I’m just waiting for… a friend,” he lied—Matt already knew that this visit was anything but friendly. “You know if John Kelly is in there?”

Frowning, he shook his head. “He’s been sent off to some military academy. I suppose you probably heard there was some kind of trouble with a girl from another school?”

“God damn,” the other boy swore. His heavy boot struck the wall with such force that it made Matt jump a little. “When you say trouble, you mean that the son of a bitch raped her?”

“There were rumors, but I didn’t know for sure.” Matt pushed at the annoying piece of hair tickling his brow. “I’m sorry to hear that it happened.”

“Not as sorry as that asshole’s gonna be if I ever get my hands on him,” he grumbled. “Anyway, thanks for letting me know, kid.”

Obviously feeling that things were said and done for the evening, the stranger’s footsteps began to move back towards the parking lot. Matt felt a pang of loss that he couldn’t quite explain with each step. It didn’t make sense that he would care one way or another if the other boy left, but he _did_ care—more than he wanted to admit. “Wait!” he called out before he could stop himself.

“Yeah?”

“I though I heard a motorcycle earlier. Was it yours?” Matt asked, feeling his cheeks burning.

“Christ. How the hell’d you hear that from inside?”

Shrugging, he pointed to his ears. “I just listen better than most people, is all.”

“Yeah, the bike’s mine. What’s it matter?” A defensive tone, thread through his voice, like he was expecting some sort of censure.

“Would you show it to me? I haven’t seen one since I was a kid, and I’m curious,” he lied. The truth was, Matt could care less about the motorcycle, but it was the first thing he thought of to make the other boy stay for even an extra moment.

There was a bit of an uncomfortable pause, and Matt almost opened his mouth to retract his request. “Sure,” the older boy said finally. “Need me to help you… You know, lead you over, I guess.”

Nodding, the blind boy held out his his hand. “Just let me take your arm, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Matt Murdock.”

“Frank Castle.”

Rather than letting Matt take his arm, Frank shook Matt’s hand. Complete strangers offered to lead Matt all the time. Sometimes, people even simply started grabbing at him without a warning. With Frank though, it felt good to put a name to the roughly calloused palm against his. It mattered that this was _Frank_ and not just some stranger he was suddenly fascinated with. He felt nearly light headed as he took hold of Frank’s arm. The bike wasn’t parked far away, and Matt was disappointed when Frank guided his hand away from his arm and to cold chrome.

“So you could see as a kid?” Frank asked.

His finger’s paused on their way along the front fender. “Until I was nine. I was in a car accident,” he supplied, answering the question he assumed was going to come next.

“And you’re what fifteen now?”

“Seventeen,” Matt corrected. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. I started rebuilding this heap when I was your age,” he added with a bit of an insecure edge.

Continuing his investigation to the seat and tail light, Matt couldn’t say much to dispute if the bike was or was not a “heap.” He’d never cared too much about cars or motorcycles in general. “You say that like two years ago was such a long time,” he commented instead.

Frank let out a rough laugh. “Well, Red, a lot can happen in two years.”

“The hair?” Matt asked with a bit of a groan. As a kid, more than a few rude comments had been made about his coppery locks. He’d hated it so much that he’d even gone as far as to ask his dad to let him have it buzzed off at the barber shop. After he lost his sight, there had been other things to taunt him about than his hair, and he didn’t think about it much anymore.

“Never seen a guy with hair that bright before. Suits you, though,” Frank added. “Know alota dames who try to get that color outta the drug store, but if it bugs you...”

“No!” Matt cut in a bit too quickly. “If you say it suits me, I guess I’ll believe you.”

The two fell back into silence, but there was something different between them this time. It was almost like the ice had been broken somewhere along the line. Matt took his time exploring the motorcycle before him, but as his hands reached the spokes of the back wheel, he knew he’d procrastinated enough. The older boy was swell enough to chat with him and let him ‘see’ the bike, but he doubted that Frank wanted to hang around the high school parking lot for the rest of the knight with some blind kid he barely knew. Brushing off his pants, Matt reached for his cane and stood back up. He was about to thank Frank for his time when something wild happened.

“Wanna go for a quick spin?” Frank asked suddenly.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

_“_ _Wanna go for a quick spin?”_

 

Frank wanted to bite his god damned tongue off for saying the words before they were even out of his mouth. He hadn’t come here for this. He hadn’t intended on proving that he was every bit the sissy boy his father had always accused him of being, but something about the kid made him speak before he could think. Maybe it was that new-penny colored hair of his or that shy smile that made him lose his fucking mind. Whatever it was, he didn’t need it, but he couldn’t take the words back once he’d said them. The kid—Red grinned like he’d been given a god damned birthday present, and Frank’s heart was in his throat.

“I’d love to,” Red replied, his smile somehow getting even bigger. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Asked you, didn’t I?” Frank snorted.

“Guess so.”

“Slide on behind me and hold tight,” he instructed.

Settling himself on the seat, Frank reached out and touched the kid’s arm lightly. Even that little bit of contact felt like lightning. Red did as he was told, and Frank started the engine. He felt Red jump slightly behind himat the sound before tightening his grip.As those delicate hands gripped round Frank’s middle, he was suddenly very glad to be up front so that his hardening cock would go unnoticed. Everything inside of his brain was screaming that his reaction was wrong. He didn’t need his father or the church to tell him it was wrong to want this boy, but he couldn’t help it that he did. Somehow though, the right or wrong of it began to fade somewhere around the first block. All that mattered was the body pressed against his back and the feel of the air against his face. It was the first time in a long time that Frank could remember being truly happy.

But like all good things in his life, Frank knew it couldn’t last.

He pulled the bike back into the school parking lot after about a twenty minute ride. At first, Red didn’t let go, and Frank didn’t move to to make him.

“Thanks,” Red said finally, sounding almost breathless. He slid off the back of the seat carefully, and gave Frank an almost sad smile. “What a rush. It’s funny, but I never really wanted to be able to drive until now.”

Frank couldn’t say what made him do it. He moved on pure impulse and pressed his lips gently against Red’s. The boy froze at first, sending a wave of panic through Frank, but then his lips began to move slowly. Red’s mouth was welcoming his shyly, exploring. It was a sweet kiss, but Frank wanted more. His tongue parted those soft lips and glided across Red’s own, while his hands pulled the younger boy’s body against his own. Red’s fingers ghosted along the line of Frank’s jaw, jolting him back to reality.

“That was a rush, too,” Red murmured with an innocent smile curving over his face as he backed away.

At a loss for words, Frank gripped at the handlebars and started the engine. “See you around, Red.”

“See you around, Frank,” Red called over the roar as the smile had faded from his face.

In his gut, Frank could tell the kid knew he didn’t have any intention of ever seeing him again. He forced his eyes away from the blind boy standing in the parking lot and out towards the darkened streets in front of him. He rode around the city for hours trying to banish the image of Red from his mind. Even then, he knew he couldn’t burn the memory of that kiss away.

It was almost dawn when Frank pulled back down the familiar street of his Queens home. He cut the engine off a good distance from his house and walked the bike to the shed behind. The kitchen light was on, but he already knew his old man wasn’t up. Mario would be passed out on the couch with a bottle still in his slackened grip, and there would be hell to pay if Frank’s bike woke him. He might not fear his father’s fists anymore, but that didn’t mean he intentionally antagonized the old bastard.

Slipping in the back door, he wasn’t surprised to find Maria Geraci sitting at his kitchen table wearing a flannel nightgown with a jean jacket over top. Her eyes were rimmed with red and he wished to god that he didn’t know why. Instead of comforting her, Frank helped himself to a cup of the coffee she’d made and joined her at the table.

“Pops know you’re here?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head and gave a grim little smile. “You really are some kind of a son of a bitch, Frankie Castle.”

“I didn’t kill him. He wasn’t even there,” he told her softly.

“Thank God for small miracles,” she sighed. “If I wanted someone to kill him, I already woulda told my brothers.”

“Still thinkin’ of goin’ to that doctor in Harlem?” he asked.

Maria leveled him with a blue eyed stare. “What other choice do I have?”

“Marry me.”

At first she let out a hollow laugh, but then she caught on that he wasn’t laughing at all. “You don’t want to do that, Frank.”

She was right. He didn’t want to marry her, but Frank had learned a long damn time ago that there was a big difference between doing what you wanted to do and what you should do. His mother hadn’t wanted to stay with his shit bag father, but she obviously hadn’t thought about the fact that she shouldn’t leave her kid. Frank wasn’t like that. He couldn’t see Maria in this kind of trouble and not do something about it.

“Sure, I do,” he lied.

“You don’t love me, Frank. Not like that.” Rolling her eyes, Maria tucked her arms underneath her breasts tightly. She looked a hell of a lot younger than eighteen just then—like the little tomboy who’d followed her brothers and him around the neighborhood looking for trouble. The big difference was that even as a kid, she’d never been scared. Frank wanted to rip Kelly’s guts out and stomp on them for making her scared now.

“I don’t love anyone like that, Ria. I don’t think I can, but I swear I’ll do right by you and the kid.” He held out his hand for hers. “If you don’t want to keep it, don’t. God knows, I can’t blame you. But if you do, marry me. No one has to ever know.”

She clamped her hand over her mouth and tears began to fall from her eyes. “I don’t know what I want.”

Using his sleeve, Frank wiped her cheeks. “Marry me, Ria. If you change your mind, we’ll get rid of it. Tell everybody you miscarried.”

“I’ll be a good wife, Frank,” she whispered. “God help me, I will.”

Instead of answering he kissed her forehead and pulled her tight against him. Her body didn’t feel anything like the one he’d been holding earlier. He wished he didn’t have a comparison to make. Frank stopped believing in God a long time ago, but he said a silent prayer right then that he could be even half of the husband that Maria deserved. He prayed he could be a better father than Mario. More than anything, Frank prayed that God would just let him love her—the way she should be loved.

He walked Maria home and watched her slip in her bedroom window. They’d agreed on telling her family that day. Frank didn’t know what he’d tell Mario; he had a feeling it wouldn’t matter one way or another to him. So long as Frank worked his hands to the bone in the shop, Mario didn’t give a damn what his son did. Funny how a pregnant “girlfriend” and a shotgun wedding weren’t going to be the announcement that his old man would flip over. He was absolutely going to blow a fuse when he learned that Frank was going to be shipping off to the Marines in less than a month.

Frank hurried back to the house and crept up the stairs to his room. He opened the small footlocker at the end of his bed and began riffling through its contents. There were a few titty mags buried under some old baseball cards and a glove he hadn’t touched since he was twelve. A few neatly stacked books that his mother had left behind—she’d put them there before she left for him to read, and for some damn reason he’d left them there. None of that was what he was looking for. In a tiny scrap of cloth at the very bottom lay his grandmother’s wedding ring. She’d come to Ellis Island from Sicily as Mrs. Castiglione and left it as Mrs. Castle, but she’d always insisted that it didn’t change her vows one bit. He always thought of her when he thought of true loyalty. Tucking the ring in his back pocket, he tried his best to make himself believe that he was doing her proud.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_1964_

 

The vigilante known as Daredevil listened idly to the beat cops talking on the sidewalk below from his spot tucked against a ledge as he took stock of his injuries. Normally, he made it a lot easier for the police to pick up the criminals he left the, but this time he wasn’t in any kind of shape to drop the Ox neatly on their doorstep. He could tell that at the very least he had a broken rib or two in addition to the gash running the length of his left side. The costume had thankfully had managed to shield him form much of the twisted metal that had once been a car before the Ox slammed him through it’s roof. Pulling himself up gingerly, he headed towards an apartment on the other side of the Kitchen.

Matt perched on the fire escape and gently rapped on the locked window in front of him. From inside, he heard a groan followed by bare footsteps. It was no surprise that at four in the morning Candace would be still sleeping. He would have let her sleep, but he knew she’d probably beat him within an inch of his life if he tried to stitch the wound in his side himself. The window creaked open, and he slipped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Don’t you ever take a night off?” she muttered, stifling a yawn.

“Not often,” Matt admitted with a grin. He pulled off his mask and tossed it onto the table across the room effortlessly. Since becoming Daredevil almost a year ago, Candace had been the first person he’d been able to stop hiding his abilities from. She often teased him about being a show-off, but it felt good to simply be who was.

Candace let out a low whistle. “That’s going to be quite a shiner. You know Mom won’t be able to resist fussing over that.”

“Pleading ‘blind man walked into a door again’, your honor,” he joked. His laughter was cut short as the cut on his side made itself known again. “I’m less worried about the black eye than I am the stab wound.”

“Jesus H,” Candace cried out as she peeled his suit away from it. “That red suit of yours does too good of a job in hiding the blood.”

Matt grinned and shrugged. “Some fruitcake I fought a while back in the old suit made the suggestion.”

“Calling someone else a fruitcake when you wear long johns and punch people in the head nightly isn’t hypocritical _at all_ ,” she drawled.

Pulling out her first aid kit, Candace motioned for him to take his shirt off. He was always endlessly grateful that she had ignored her parents complaints about her going to medical school instead of marrying the first fella to ask. She’d always been just as likely to push at her boundaries as he was, and it was the real reason he’d been less afraid to admit the whole crazy idea to her than Foggy.

“What are you going to do when the day comes that you are hurt to bad to crawl in my window?” she asked as she cleaned the wound.

“That’s something I am hoping to never find out,” he replied, taking in a deep breath as the first stitch pulled through.

Her reply came in the form of a grunt. They both knew that he’d more than likely be either killed or outed to the public before making it to the hospital. She’d not exactly minced words about what she thought of his nocturnal habits, but patched him up anytime he needed it nonetheless. Candace never questioned his reasoning for doing the things he did. She’d seen more than a few of his “reasons” coming through the emergency room doors since starting her residency a year earlier.

“You owe me one, Matt,” Candace grumbled as she began the grim work of sewing him back together.

Sucking in his breath at the sharp pain, he tried to force some levity into the situation. “I suppose I should just be glad the guy didn’t have actual horns like an ox...it was bad enough being slammed around without worrying about being gored.”

Candace let out a little snort of laughter. “Maybe you’d fair better if you added bigger horns to your costume and tried that yourself.”

“The horns were _your_ idea,” he huffs. “You’re the one who sewed the suit not me.”

“For the love of Pete, Matt! I was joking when I said it, and I wasn’t expecting you to actually like the _idea_. Besides, you are the one who really gets a kick out of being called a devil,” she countered as she pulled the last stitch through. “And all done!”

“I owe you one,” he told sincerely. If he were really honest, he owed her about a million.

“Does that mean you’re coming to Sunday dinner?” He could hear the slight edge of hopefulness in her voice, and new he was in for it if he said no.

Nelson Sunday dinners were an absolute family necessity, if you asked their mother. Mrs. Nelson pulled out all of the stops and usually made enough to feed an army—or Foggy through a growth spurt in high school. The fancy china was brought out from the curio and the silver coffee service shined up like there would be royalty eating with them. She insisted that if she was going through all of that trouble that the whole family should be at least dressed for the occasion as well. As a boy new to his surroundings, it had taken Matt years to get used to the ritual. With his dad Sundays had meant mass and the occasional treat of pancakes at a nearby diner if things had gone well in the ring that week. He hadn’t been expecting such a crazy affair every week when he came to the Nelson household. Actually, he’d been so nervous about dropping one of the china plates when he set the table the first time that he had accidentally dropped one. With all the attention spent on the Sunday event, Matt was sure that he was going to get it. Instead, Mrs. Nelson—Mom had merely swept up the pieces and kissed his forehead. Sundays and the china were meant to be used for family, and Matt was family then. A broken dish didn’t matter in the long run.

As adults things had changed when it came to Sundays. The china still made it’s way onto the table and there was still a good chance a crown roast or ham would be on the same silver platter as always, but there was an added stress to the whole thing. Mom would often invite a “nice girl” from church or a “handsome young man” that she met at the bank. Foggy had escaped the set ups by staying with Karen long after high school and marrying her as soon as their firm was solvent. That left Matt and Candace to combat the near weekly traps on their own. Last week’s guest had been an accountant named Woody who talked constantly about how the men at the table should see him to get a sound retirement plan put together. Matt could only imagine that this week would be his turn as Mom had given him a short reprieve for the last few.

Matt groaned. “Has she mentioned anything about someone particular coming?”

“Not since the last time she told me and I warned you. She still doesn’t believe that you actually fell down the stairs.”

“I did!” he cried. “The fact that I was thrown by some nut wearing a lightning bolt headdress is immaterial.”

“Man without fear,” Candace teased, deepening her voice and puffing out her chest for effect. “He can swing off of flag poles across rooftops, but anything in a skirt sends him running.”

Matt laughed and shook his head. “Not anything with a skirt. Karen’s my friend and I haven’t run from you.”

“Karen used to send you running for the hills when you were in school, and as your sister, I don’t count at all. Besides, maybe this one won’t be so bad—like Bonnie. You went out with her three times,” she reminded him.

Clenching his jaw, Matt did his best not to recall their embarrassing third date. Bonnie had actually been a great gal. She was funny, sweet, and smelled wonderful—all of the things that should make Matt interested in a girl, but somehow didn’t. The amazing part about the whole thing was that he’d enjoyed being around Bonnie until they’d went back to her apartment for a glass of wine after a concert. He was still humiliated when he thought about how she’d began rubbing gently at his crotch. At first, the traitor in his pants had stood at attention like a good soldier, but the instant he’d cupped her large, soft breasts, his cock had instantly begun to drop. He’d made an excuse and gotten off the couch as fast as he could, but Bonnie hadn’t been interested in listening to his apology or answering his calls after that. Sadly, it was as close to getting laid as he’d come.

“You’re right,” he admitted, “I did like Bonnie.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Candace said, elbowing him in the gut for good measure. “Maybe Mom won’t invite anyone. New York is a big city, but sooner or later she will still run out of singles for us.”

On his way home, Matt tried to think up an excuse to skip out on dinner, but nothing believable actually came to him. He supposed he could tell the truth that he’d taken on a criminal with brawn to make up the brains he lacked and was nearly beaten into oblivion, but he knew that would only earn him a sighed “oh, Matthew” and a head shake from his adoptive mother. It was mostly his fault for never truly showing her what he could do, but the fact that she wouldn’t believe he was capable of being a “hero” like Daredevil would sting too much for him to even hedge the subject. Lying and telling her he was sick would bring her right to his door with a pot of soup and the same electric blanket she’d been tucking him in since he was eleven. Being truthful and telling her that he just plain didn’t want to be set up again for failure also wasn’t an option. By the time he reached his apartment, he was mostly resigned to going, and he fell into bed with a feeling of dread in his gut.

The morning began like most days. Matt carefully dressed in a suit and tie, shaved, and did his best to make sure that his hair was in some kind of order. Though he’d been told numerous times by his mother, Karen, and more than a few sighing ladies, he didn’t picture himself as a good looking guy. More than once, he’d traced his fingers over his own features and ultimately not come to any real revelation about what people found attractive about him. His father had been an extremely handsome man, but he had gotten his looks from his mother’s side, or so he’d been told. He had no idea what his mother even looked like. Still he couldn’t deny that more than his fair share of women found him attractive enough. With Karen, he was certain, and perhaps some of the other women had seen him as a project. He was the kind of mild mannered, handicapped man they could pet and cosset like the sacrificing Nightingale’s they saw themselves as. There were even a few who had seemed oddly turned on by his blindness—something he wasn’t sure he was fully comfortable with either. The rest, he had no clue what they saw in him. He wondered what this one would think of him...at least until she found out that he was nothing more than a flaming sissy boy.

He took a cab to the Nelson house on the outer edge of the Kitchen—the part that transitioned into the better areas. Outside the passing car, Matt could hear the trees buffeting the sound of traffic. They were still fairly small maples, if he remembered correctly, and lined the tidy streets to give the townhouses behind them just a bit of privacy. It didn’t take very long before the cab turned on a very familiar street. Matt could smell the Sunday suppers from at least a dozen houses, and he could probably pick out all of the families’ homes just by what their mother’s put on the table. The thought made him smile, but also reminded him of what was waiting on him. Leaving the cabbie the change from his two dollars, he steeled himself for the onslaught he knew was waiting for him at the door.

As he expected, Mom pulled the door open before he even knocked, and he heard her breath hitch at the sight of him. “Matthew Michael Murdock, what in heaven’s name happened to your face?” she demanded in-loo-of a greeting.

“Hi, Mom. Ran into a half open door in the office,” he lied, giving her his best half smile. “I didn’t realize the client had left it like that on his way out.”

“And I’ll bet that new secretary you hired didn’t even notice, did she?” she huffed, wrapping her arm protectively through his. “It probably still hurts like the dickens. Can I get you an ice pack?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I promise I’ll be more careful. Joyce shouldn’t have to sit on me like a hen,” he added when her grip didn’t loosen.

The older woman clicked her tongue. “I’d still like you to hold some ice on it for a bit. And where’s my kiss?”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead dutifully before taking his place at the tiny breakfast table in the kitchen. The ice pack was going to be coming his way whether he wanted it or not, so it was just easier to let her fuss over him. At twelve, he’d actually enjoyed her ministrations. He’d never had a mom to worry about him like that, and it had been so lovely to have someone take the time to hover over his scrapes and bruises. At thirty, he was thankful but tired of it all. Still, it was better to just take the offered ice and move on with his day.

“I invited a nice young lady from our church to supper this week,” she announced as she touched the freezing cold bag to his hand. “She’s from Idaho and doesn’t know many people yet. I thought it would be nice for you to show her around a bit.”

“And does she mind being set up on a blind date with an actual blind man?” he asked wryly.

“Who said anything about a date,” Mom muttered guiltily. “I just thought it would be nice to introduce her to some nice young people in town. Although, she is very lovely. She’s got hair almost as red as yours and pretty blue eyes. I suppose her figure is nice enough, if not a bit skinny.”

“I’m sure she’s beautiful.” He dropped the ice from his face the moment he sensed her turn back towards the counter.

“Her name is Natalie Rushman…” His mother went on to extol an entire book worth of virtues for a woman he was sure she’d only met once or twice, but Matt stopped listening after about the fourth or fifth time she called Miss Rushman “a nice girl.” Thankfully, he was saved by the incoming steps Mr. Nelson—Uncle Ted. His mission to grab a snack between innings of the ball game came to an abrupt stop as he spotted Matt.

“Holy Hannah, Murdock,” he said with a low whistle. “I hope you at least gave the other guy a bit of a fight.”

Matt grinned. “It was a two hit fight: the door hit me and I hit the floor. Barely made it out of my corner.”

Uncle Ted laughed heartily and patted Matt on the shoulder. “If your mother wasn’t in the room, I’d tell you a story or two from my college days...ended up with two black eyes trying to prank some freshman.”

“Would you get out of here, Ted? I can’t cook with you in here,” Mom chided gently. The air around her swished gently, and Matt imagined her current weapon of choice was a wooden spoon.

“Whaddya say, Matty, want to watch the Yankees blow another game?” he asked grabbing a couple of bottles from the fridge.

It was the out that Matt had been waiting for and the fact that he hadn’t really followed baseball since before he lost his sight was irrelevant. He had a sneaking suspicion that Uncle Ted had known he was saving his skin too.

Mr. Neslson had always been easy to like. From his first days in the house, he treated Matt just like any kid. He didn’t baby him or hover, and he certainly didn’t fuss at every little scrape and bump. Still, Matt didn’t take for granted that Mr. Nelson was just any man. It took someone special to take in his wife’s late friend’s kid—and a disabled one at that—when he already had two of his own to worry about. Matt’s super ears made sure that he heard all sorts of things he’d rather not, but not once had the Nelson patriarch complained about any of it. He even went as far as to love Matt in his way. While he could never call Mr. Nelson “dad,” Uncle Ted was as close to a second father as a kid like Matt could have asked for.

Once they were both settled on the couch, Uncle Ted nudged a cold bottle of beer against the back of Matt’s hand. “You’re gonna need one of these today, kid,” he murmured softly, lest his wife was in ear shot.

“That bad?” Matt grimaced.

“Other way around actually. She’s quite a doll, but I have a feeling that red hair of hers means she’s a firecracker.” Uncle Ted elbowed him gently, not knowing that he was hitting against Matt’s broken ribs. “She reminds me of an old college girlfriend.”

“I heard that, Edward,” Mom called from the kitchen.

Thankfully, Candace arrived before too long, and Foggy and Karen were practically on her heels. Everyone settled into their usual Sunday routine like they were set to a timer. Foggy and Ted began discussing baseball as they put the extra leaf into the table and getting extra chairs. Karen disappeared into the kitchen to help get the meal finished up. That left Candace and Matt to set the table and pour glasses of water. The supposedly lovely Miss Rushman arrived at precisely on time with a bottle of wine.

Matt listened to Uncle Ted and Mom greet her at the door with a kind of gallows dread. From the front hall, he could instantly tell that they had both told the truth when they said that Miss Rushman was lovely. Her steps were light and almost dancer-like, and even as much as he didn’t want to notice, he could smell the pheromones that signaled attraction coming off of his surrogate father. The last thing Matt needed was a pretty girl in his life.

“Go get her, Romeo,” Candace whispered so softly that only he could hear. He pulled a face in her direction, but didn’t have time to actually reply before the trio entered the dining room.

“Natalie, I’d like you to meet our son Matthew and daughter Candace. Our oldest son and his wife will be in shortly from the kitchen. I believe you met them both in church this morning,” Uncle Ted announced with obvious pride in his family.

Matt feigned obliviousness to Natalie moving his way. Her perfume was quite expensive and not at all cloying as she stepped closer. He could tell by her steady heart beat that she was a confident woman—another fact pointing to her beauty.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said in rather husky voice. “I’ve heard so much about both of you.”

“The pleasure is all ours, I’m sure, Miss Rushman,” Matt returned holding out his hand toward her.

“Likewise,” Candace chimed in with faux-enthusiasm from across the room.

“Please call me Natalie.”

The meal itself was rather uneventful. Mom had made her famous roast again, and as always, the compliments were completely sincere. Foggy and Karen monopolized a good portion of the talk with their plans to buy a home nearby which thrilled Mom to no end while Candace only spoke up when it offered her a chance to needle under her mother’s skin or tease her brothers. Even Natalie seemed to fit perfectly into place.

She talked just enough and asked just the right questions, but maybe that was what seemed off about her to Matt to begin with. He couldn’t help mulling over her ever reaction and reply as he chewed his roast thoughtfully. There was something almost rehearsed about her. He couldn’t say what it was exactly. Her heart rate didn’t falter nor did her body temperature change—it was almost like whatever she said or reacted to didn’t reach any further than the surface. That alone was both unsettling and intriguing to Matt.

“Mrs. Nelson told me that you lost your sight saving a man’s life, Matthew. You’re quite a hero,” she said in that sultry tone of hers. There was a flirtatious edge to her words, but he could also tell that she wasn’t actually attracted to him.

“Not so much a hero as just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m sure anyone would do the same,” he said, trying to brush off the compliment.

“Oh, baloney,” Karen disagreed. “Matt’s positively a white knight in a world of cowboys.”

“I’m sure he is,” Natalie agreed with a bit of a purr.

He couldn’t say why, but suddenly Matt had the impression he was an antelope to her lioness. There was something very dangerous about Natalie Rushman, and one way or another he aimed to find out what the hell she was doing in his family’s home.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Frank groaned loudly as the ringing alarm clock shook him from his dreamless sleep. He’d purposely set the damned thing on the dresser across the room for mornings like this one. Days when his own internal clock didn’t kick his ass out of bed were few and far between, but that didn’t give him a good enough reason to be late opening his own fucking shop. Rolling out of bed, he glared at the still ringing clock and padded over to shut it off without bothering to dress. He tried his best to ignore the twinges in his aching back and knees as he moved. If Maria were still alive, she’d tell him that his joints were trying to get out an S.O.S in Morse code, but she was rotting in her grave beside their children, and it was just him in an empty apartment.

Once he was clothed and almost moving normally, Frank drank his usual breakfast of black coffee and headed down the stairs to his shop. Between his savings from the Marines and the small inheritance he’d gotten from his scum bag father, he’d been able to buy the building in Hell’s Kitchen a little over six years ago. He’d sold the home he’d lived in with his family almost immediately after they’d died and moved into his shoe box sized apartment as soon as he was released from the hospital. If there was anything he really liked about the place at all, it was that he didn’t have any neighbors to say “hello” to or chat with on his way to work. Frank had never been a particularly friendly guy and the older he got the less friendly he became. The fact that he only had to deal with with the three mechanics he had working for him and the girl he found for the office suited him just fine.

The shop itself wasn’t all that impressive. He had two lifts set up and a small lot out in the back. All of the tools were stored meticulously, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a heavy layer of dust and grease covering most things. His own nose had become immune to the scent of engines and auto paint years ago though he imagined the place smelled pretty rank. Castle’s Automotive Works may not be all that much, but he was still proud of it.

Jesus and Carlo Ramos were the first two to arrive after Frank opened the heavy gate above the front doors. The Mexican brothers had been working for him since he opened the place. Jesus, the older of the pair, barely came to Frank’s shoulder and had a wide grin that was either clownish or unsettling depending on the day of the week. On the other hand, Carlo was built like bean pole and rarely said two words in the entire time he’d worked for Frank despite the fact that he spoke the better English of the pair. The men nodded their greetings and went straight to work without having to be told what to do. Next in was the youngest of the crew, Tommy. The kid had dropped out of school a few months back and was working hard to support his mom and three sisters after their father skipped out. At some point, Sally opened the office like she usually did without even peeking in to say good morning to fellas in the back. The only one missing was Billy.

Frank glanced up at the clock irritably. Everyone who worked in the shop knew that there were few things in the world that could get him fired up quicker than being late. If it was anyone else, he would have probably thrown something across the room by now, but Billy had never been late before in the whole three years he’d worked there. Frank actually thought of the kid as his right hand man. The idea that he wouldn’t show up without so much as a damned phone call unsettled him. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself before grabbing the work order in the kid’s bin and heading to do it himself.

It was well after noon by the time Frank shuffled in the office. Sally gave him a strange look over her horned rimmed glasses and kept on typing up the invoice she was working on. Frank and Sally had long ago decided that they liked each other just fine from opposite rooms. Still, he couldn’t think of a single person he knew of that could keep the place running as seamlessly as the spinster. The fact that she was a pain in the ass on her better days didn’t matter; it wasn’t like he was paying her to get along with him. After listening to the phone ringing endlessly for a minute, Frank slammed the handset harshly, earning himself another look over those hideous fucking glasses.

“Billy didn’t call?” he demanded angrily.

Sally shrugged. “I would have told you if he had.”

 

“Shit!”

“Language, Mr. Castle,” she chided like some fucking school teacher.

Frank scowled at her and stormed out of the office.

The rest of the crew took their lunch hour and returned, but Frank was still doing his own work combined with Billy’s when they got back. The trio seemed to sense that it was not a good day to chatter while they worked. Someone—probably—Carlo turned on the radio to fill the silence that dragged between the sounds of the tools.

_“And in other news… Hell’s Kitchen’s very own scarlet swashbuckler, Daredevil was sighted last night leaving the scene of an attempted robbery by the Matador. Reports indicate that the Spanish thief was unconscious when everyone’s favorite horned-hero turned him over to the police. Now, back to your regularly scheduled hour of music…”_

The report must have caught the Mexican brothers’ attention. Jesus pulled a red towel from his back pocket and brandished it out chanting: “Toro! Toro!” Carlo made horns on his head with his index fingers and stamped his foot like a bull. When his brother charged, Jesus made a mock scream and ran behind the bumper of the Cadillac they were working on. Their antics were enough to have Tommy in stitches and even Frank cracking a smile.

“El diablo fights more jokes than the real crooks,” Jesus murmured as he went back to work.

“You mean ‘jokers,’” Tommy corrected.

“I don’t know. They seem like punchlines to me,” Frank cut in.

“Mr. Castle!” Sally called from the doorway.

Short of Hell freezing over and a commie sitting in the White House, Sally stepping foot into the shop itself was the last thing Frank expected to see. “Yeah?” he called back, not liking the sinking feeling in his gut.

“There is a police officer asking for you in the office, sir.”

Behind him, the three mechanics suddenly went silent, and he couldn’t blame them. Frank would vouch for every single person that he had working for him, but that didn’t mean they were all angels. A visit from Johnny Law never meant good things for anyone. Wiping his hands off, he did his best to shake the cold feeling he had about it.

The cop waiting in his office was a slender black man in his late twenties or so. He wore the standard blue uniform of a beat cop, but the look in his eyes was a damn bit more intuitive than most flat foots Frank had run into. “Are you the owner?”

“Yeah. Frank Castle, officer,” he said holding out his hand respectfully. “Something I can do for you?”

“Brett Mahoney,” the cop said returning the shake. “And I hope so. Do you happen to employ a William R. Everett?”

Frank leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I do. Why? He done somethin’?”

“I can’t say particularly at this point, Mr. Castle. Your receptionist tells me that Mr. Everett didn’t show up to work today. Did you speak to him at all over the weekend?” The cop’s gaze never left Frank’s. “Maybe even know where he was Saturday night?”

“Wasn’t up my damn skirt, I can tell you that,” Frank grumbled in reply. “If you got somethin’ straight to ask me, then ask me. Otherwise, I got a lot of work back there and not enough hands to do it.”

Officer Mahoney’s lips twitched upward at the corners. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Castle. If Mr. Everett shows up, please tell him to drop by the station.”

The rest of the work day was damn near silent in the shop. Someone—again probably Carlo—had turned the radio back off. This time, there was no fooling around to break things up. While he doubted the guys had been able to hear the conversation over their work, Frank didn’t doubt that they at least had a clue that something was off. For three guys who didn’t have much in the way of schooling, they were certainly smart enough to know better than to ask about what the cop wanted.

In the order they came, the others left the shop at the end of the day. Frank wasn’t lying to Mahoney when he said they were behind, and even though he knew that all three would stay if they were asked, he let them go with a muttered good-bye as he continued to work. The soft sound of high heels clicking on the cement behind him caught his attention.

Sally stood behind him frowning heavily when he turned. She looked more upset than he’d ever seen her before. “Mr. Castle, there is something I think you should know about Mr. Everett,” she said softly. “Would you mind sitting for a moment in the office?”

Frank nodded and followed her out. He motioned for her to take a seat in her usual chair as he took the wooden folding one used for customers. Figuring she’d come out with it when she was damned well ready, he didn’t poke at her to talk.

“Mr. Everett asked if there was anyway I could slip him an advance on Friday when I gave him his paycheck,” Sally admitted. “At first, I thought it was a joke actually…you know how he can be.”

“But Billy wasn’t laughin’,” Frank finished gruffly. “You do it?”

“Heavens no!” she sniffed.

“He say what he needed the dough for?”

Sally pulled off her glasses, letting them dangle from the beaded chain around her neck. “I assumed it was to finish paying off that ring he’s had on hold at the jewelers.”

“God damn! How do you know he’s gonna propose?” Frank asked in shock. He hadn’t even known that Billy had a girl—let alone was ready to get hitched.

“Language, Mr. Castle...”

“Sorry. But how the heck do you even know about that?” he amended.

“I do talk to our co-workers, Mr. Castle. Don’t you?” she muttered, rolling her eyes for good measure. “Mr. Everett has been walking me home since I started working here. He tells me all kinds of things. He’s seeing Annie Johnson for almost a year now and been waiting to work up the nerve to propose. He even asked my advice on how to do it. So when he asked for the money, I didn’t even think to ask why. In fact, for a moment, I almost gave into romantic fancy and did it, but then I thought better of it and told him I’d ask you first. When I brought up your name, he just told me to forget he’d asked. To be honest, I actually did _forget_ about it.”

Frank rested his elbows on his knees. He’d just learned more about both Sally and Billy in five minutes than he had in years. The idea of it stuck in his craw, but now wasn’t exactly the time to get sentimental.

“You remembered when the officer was here, though. Why didn’t you tell him about it?”

Wringing her hands tightly, Sally almost looked like she was about to cry. “It sounded very much to me like that young officer was very much implying that Mr. Everett had done something illegal. William may be a salt-of-the-Earth sort of man, Mr. Castle, but I assure you he is not a criminal.”

“Christ,” Frank sighed. He caught himself and shook his head before Sally could correct him. “Sorry.”

“You don’t think Mr. Everett’s been harmed, do you, Mr. Castle?” Her blue eyes actually were brimming with tears now.

“Nah, Sally,” he lied, putting an awkward hand on her shoulder. He’d never thought she’d turn into a watering pot on him, and he was at a loss as to what to do about it. “I bet it’s all some kinda misunderstanding.”

She nodded and pulled a handkerchief from her purse.

“Want me to drive you home?”

Shaking her head, she began to collect herself. “I’ve never been afraid to walk home in the dark, Mr. Castle. But it was always so nice of Mr. Everett to offer, you see. He’s too gentlemanly to let an old maid walk alone, and I’d never accuse you of being a gentleman.” She smirked at his shocked expression. “A good man, but certainly not a gentle one. That’s why I am telling you about this.”

With that, she gathered her hat and light jacket. He didn’t offer again to walk her home, but Frank did at least follow her out and stood there until her form retreated far enough down the street that she melded in with the rest of the stiffs heading home.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” he grumbled to no one.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

Matt laid on his couch sullenly with _The Dick Van Dyke Show_ playing on his seldom used television set—a reminder of the days that Foggy had shared the small apartment with him before marrying Karen. Though his body was still aching from too many outings without rest, he couldn’t let himself fully relax. He was still fuming that Candace had promised to stop treating his injuries if he didn’t take a few days off. If it wasn’t for that unyielding heart rate of hers, he probably would have tempted fate and called her bluff, but she actually meant business this time. _The police kept this city from falling to heck in a hand basket before you, Matt Murdock, and they’ll be doing just the same long after they toss dirt on your casket,_ she’d told him.

Truth be told, the evening sounded fairly calm so far outside his window. It took a lot of focus to actually stretch his senses enough to make out more than just a siren or two from farther than a few blocks, and he found himself zoning in on a few particular sounds here and there at random. So far, there was nothing going on out there that the black and whites couldn’t handle without him, but that didn’t really do much to assuage the pricks at his conscience. The more Matt did to help the city, the more he felt himself sucked in. His first few months in the suit hadn’t actually been a nightly thing. He’d gone out to find justice for his father, and then things evolved. Anymore it almost felt like he was wearing a mask as plain ol’ Matt Murdock rather than as Daredevil. Sometimes he wondered if he was helping the city as nothing more than a way to help himself.

A knock at the door shook Matt from his thoughts. Sitting up quickly sent a swift bolt of pain through his side, but he was on his feet almost immediately. At first, he almost didn’t recognize the person on the other side of the door, and certainly wasn’t expecting her. “Who is it?” he called through the door.

“Natalie Rushman,” a husky voice called back. “You’re mother asked if I’d mind dropping a few things off.”

Of all the sneaky set ups his mother had pulled, this was probably the worst. Matt clenched his jaw tightly and took his time unbolting the locks to give himself a moment to fume. Sooner or later, he was going to have to have a real talk with her about all of this meddling of hers. She was going to accept sooner or later that he was destined to be a bachelor for life. With his smile back in place, he opened the door.

“That was kind of you. I hope she didn’t send you too far out of your way,” he said stepping aside.

“Not all. When I saw her at the grocery store, she mentioned you lived out this way, and I offered actually,” she explained. She moved close enough to him as she entered that he could feel her body heat radiating against his, and he had a feeling her closeness was no accident. “I hope you don’t think I’m intruding.”

Matt frowned a little. “Not at all. It’s just that I have a bit of a system...”

“Your mother explained it to me: she reads off the labels and you put your tags on them before putting them where you want them. I’m under strict instructions not to disrupt your system,” Natalie promised. “She seems quite protective of you, but I have a feeling that you are more independent than she’d like.”

Matt grinned and shrugged. “I get by.”

“Well, a girl like me would get by better with a little more light in this place. Would you mind turning them on?” she asked with a practiced giggle.

“Sorry,” he apologized, flipping the switch.

“Your mother didn’t send much in the way of groceries,” she muttered, beginning to unload the bag onto his counter. “I’m assuming you don’t cook much, just like most men I know.”

“I can boil water and make an egg or two on occasion, if that is what you mean,” he joked back.

Her laugh almost sounded real. “You’re not so different from most men I know.”

 

“Depends on who you know, I guess.”

Thankfully, Natalie did keep to his usual way of sorting groceries and there wasn’t much to put away—and none of it anything he actually needed. He once again was struck by just how controlled Natalie was. He’d never met a person who didn’t get nervous or fidgeted or so much as bat a damn eye before. There was something about her that wasn’t quite genuine. On the surface, she played such a perfect part that he almost wished she really were here trying to seduce him.

“That went much quicker than I had hoped,” she pouted. He could almost imagine a pair of full red lips pulled into a perfect pucker when she spoke.

Matt tried to keep his smile in place, but felt it wavering. “Well, I would love to buy you dinner tomorrow if that will make us even?”

“That would do the trick.” She closed the gap between them once more so that her full breasts almost touched him. It took all of his will not to back away, but of course an “ordinary” blind man wouldn’t be able to avoid her advances and so he didn’t. Her finger brushed against his collar bones lightly. “Or I could whip something up out of what you already have… I wouldn’t sticking around a little longer.”

He captured her fingers just as she was leaning up on her tip-toes to kiss him. Thankfully, she froze in her tracks and stepped back a bit. It took him a moment get his nerves under control, and he finally admitted to himself that Candice had been right about him being afraid of most women. Matt could feel the skin on his cheeks blazing and hoped that it read more bashful than repelled to Natalie.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Natalie. I’m not very good at this. As you can imagine, a guy like me doesn’t date a whole lot,” he admitted truthfully.

“I can’t imagine why not,” she purred. For the first time, he heard her heart skip a beat.

“The combination of awkward and blind doesn’t attract too many women. If you’ll let me, I’d like take the time to give you a real date,” he lied, feeling emboldened by actually catching her in a lie.

She stroked his arm lightly. “You really are one of the last gentlemen out there, Matt Murdock. Tomorrow night then.”

“Do you know Domenico’s a few blocks away?”

“I do,” she confirmed. “Should I meet you there at say eight?”

“Eight it is,” he agreed.

“I’ll see you then.” She reluctantly headed for the door.

“See you then,” he murmured as he listened to her footsteps down the hall and to the elevator.

He focused in on the delicate click of her heels on her way through the lobby below and followed the sound across the street. Blocking out everything else, he heard a car door open and close behind her. There was a man in the driver’s seat—even from his apartment he could make out the heavier breath of man and the scent of aftershave.

“Well?” the man asked flatly.

Natalie sighed. “He’s a terrible liar, but I don’t know if he’s our guy really. Even if he is Daredevil, I don’t see how he’d make much of a spy. But I’ll stick it out if that is what Fury wants.”

“It is,” the man affirmed. He started the engine, but didn’t put it in drive. “Do you think he’s really blind?”

“He is. I got a good look at his eyes tonight. They’re nonreactive and so thickly clouded that there’s no doubt about that. Still, I can’t figure out how he does it,” Natalie mused. She let out an actual laugh. “Maybe I can figure it out tomorrow night… If not, you may do better sending in one of the boys.”

“Or maybe the Widow is loosing her sting,” the stranger teased. The car pulled away slowly, and Matt was tempted to follow.

Instead, he settled back on his couch and bit at his lip. Spies. It was almost as incredible to him as the idea that a blind man could be a superhero. He’d known that sooner or later, someone would eventually figure it out, but he’d assumed that it would be Foggy or one of the Nelsons. Why would spies be interested in him? There were at least a half dozen other superheros in New York with more impressive skills than his. Why him? And how had they found out about what he did as Daredevil?

The questions were still swirling around in Matt’s brain in the office the next day. He was so caught up in thinking about what he had heard that he nearly _did_ run into his half open office door. His new secretary, Janet actually warned him before he could run into it.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Murdock?” she asked softly.

“Fine,” he replied stiffly.

“I was worried that you had come down with whatever bug Mr. Nelson has,” she mused. “He called a little bit ago to ask you to call him at home when you have a moment.”

Matt sank into his office chair with a heavy sigh. Foggy was one of those people who could be standing a hundred feet away when someone let out a sneeze and somehow wind up with the cold. It didn’t surprise him that his partner had managed to catch the flu. What did surprise him was that when Foggy answered the phone he sounded suspiciously fine.

“Buddy, I’ve gotta favor to call in from that time a few weeks back when you took a header down those stairs,” he confessed. “Mom called and said that Aunt Sally wanted to come talk to me about some legal trouble that a friend of hers is in.”

Matt groaned loudly. Foggy’s Aunt Sally was one of his least favorite people. She may have been related to Uncle Ted by blood, but the fact that she was his sister was too much to be believed. While Uncle Ted was warm and welcoming to just about everyone he met, Sally was about as inviting as the thought of hugging a cactus when you were naked. And if her demeanor wasn’t enough to send Matt running for the door, the way she treated him like absolute garbage sure did.

“Did Mom say exactly what kind of trouble her friend was in?” Matt asked, already resigned to the fact that he did owe Foggy at least this and more.

“Nope. I think Mom just wanted to get off the phone with her as soon as she could. This must have been about the thirtieth pot roast she claimed to smell burning this month when Aunt Sally called,” Foggy said with a wry chuckle. “I would do it, but...”

“Say no more. I’ll handle it. Do you know when she’s coming?”

“Nine-thirty.” Foggy let out a massive sigh of relief. “You are the best brother a guy could ask for.”

Matt grumbled something nearly unintelligible and hung up the phone. He traced the face of his watch and, of course, it was almost nine-fifteen.”

Less than five minutes later, he could smell Sally’s cheap perfume wafting up the stair well. He straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair with a sort of gallows dread building in his stomach, but then he noticed something strange. Beneath Sally’s scent was another that he swore he remembered from a lifetime ago. Soap, cigarettes, and engine grease. The smell took him back a night that he’d almost convinced himself was a dream. Without realizing he was moving, he found himself standing in the doorway to his office at the same time Sally and her friend entered the reception area. He almost had to pinch himself to pull his mind out of the fog.

“What do you mean Franklin isn’t here today?” he heard Sally complain loudly. Whatever spell he’d been under was suddenly broken.

“I thought I heard you come in Sally,” Matt said, forcing a smile. “It’s been too long. Foggy told me you’d be by.”

Sally let out a sarcastic sniff. “Matthew, if I had wanted you to look into this for me, I would have asked you. And don’t call Franklin by that ridiculous nickname—especially not in front of his employees.”

Matt literally had to bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from blurting out anything he might regret. “ _Franklin_ , unfortunately, is sick today. Now, I would be more than happy to help you with whatever you need in anyway I can, or you’ll just have to wait until his next available appointment. Janet, when would that be?”

“Three weeks,” Janet answered with a small puff of air that he imagined was an attempt at not laughing.

“I guess you’re better than nothing,” she muttered. “Matthew, this is Mr. Castle, my employer. Mr. Castle, this is Matthew Murdock—my brother was kind enough to raise him, and he’s now my nephew’s business partner.”

The name Castle fell on Matt’s ears like a ton of bricks. “Frank Castle?”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Frank couldn’t stop himself from staring. The man Sally was sinking her claws in was the same kid he’d taken on a motorcycle ride all of those years ago. Without even hearing the name, he knew this was Red. How many other blind guys could there be with hair that color? Even in a city as big as New York, the odds of it all were fucking mind blowing. He was still staring when all of a sudden Red turned right towards him like he was actually looking at him.

“Frank Castle?” he asked after Sally had introduced him.

“I can’t believe you’d remember me after all those years, Red,” Frank replied, unsure if he should be glad of it. He shook the lawyer’s offered hand, still staring.

As a kid, Matt Murdock had been good looking even if he’d been a bit on the skinny side. As an adult, he was almost unbelievably handsome. His once baby faced features had hardened with age and his form had filled out impressively. Frank couldn’t help but notice how the seams of Red’s suit coat looked like they were stretched for all they were worth. He wished he didn’t care how the man had changed, but he did care. His body was reacting exactly how he knew it would—and hated himself for. Most of the time, Frank could pretend he didn’t notice the way other men looked. There was something about this particular man that made that impossible.

“Of course,” Red said with a half-cocked smile. “My ears rang for days when my friend Karen found out I’d snuck out of the dance to go on a motorcycle ride.”

Sally gave the pair a narrow eyed stare. “It’s quite wonderful that you know each other, but can we please get down to business, gentlemen?”

“Certainly,” Red agreed. He led them into his office with practiced ease, and motioned toward the pair of chairs in front of his desk. 

Frank took a seat and forced himself to look at the surroundings more than the man sitting across from him. The office was no two-bit brownstone that was for sure. The massive desk in front of him was a dark polished wood that matched the leather cushioned seat beneath him. On the walls, there were several framed pictures and degrees from fancy schools. Despite Sally’s obvious dislike of him, Red had certainly done well for himself. 

“As I told my sister-in-law on the phone, this is a very serious matter, Matthew,” she said sternly. “I would much prefer that Franklin look into this, but if it can’t be helped… You see, time is very much of the essence.”

Matt nodded. “I assumed it would be, but you haven’t exactly explained what the issue is. I can’t help if I don’t know what type of representation you need.”

“Well,” Sally huffed. She opened her mouth to launch into the full story, but Frank had about enough of her already.

“A friend of ours is on the hook for murder,” he cut in. “A cop came by lookin’ for him a few days back, but Billy hadn’t shown up to work that day. Turns out a guy he owed money to got shot in his office the night Billy was supposed to meet him.”

“And you believe your friend is innocent?” Matt asked. 

“Of course, Mr. Everett is innocent!” Sally looked like she might actually faint. “Do you think I would actually associate with a man capable of murder?”

The lawyer pushed at his glasses. “People are capable of things that no one who knows them would even suspect. You wouldn’t be the first person to be fooled. Still, assuming Mr. Everett is innocent, does he have any alibi for his whereabouts the night of the murder?”

“Not a damned one,” Frank muttered.

“Language, Mr. Castle.” Sally pulled at her handkerchief nervously. “But you see, we simply know that Mr. Everett could never kill someone!”

“And he’s in police custody currently?” 

“That’s the real kicker. He hasn’t shown up anywhere yet. I got a phone call last night from him telling me that he was innocent. He wouldn’t tell me where he was, but he sounded real worked up over it all. Says someone is trying to frame him for killing Rigeletto.” Leaning his head in his hands, Frank rubbed at his aching temples. “Look, I know this doesn’t look good for him, and I tried to get him to turn himself in. We just thought maybe if he knew he had a decent lawyer...”

Red shook his head grimly. “I wish I could say that this looked good for your friend, but it doesn’t. Right now, he needs to turn himself in and immediately request a lawyer prior to questioning. Until he asks for counsel and accepts my help, there’s not a very much I can do for him. Also, keep in mind that if you are questioned by the police again and you don’t admit to having contact with Mr. Everett, you can actually be charged as an accessory after the fact.”

“I knew you couldn’t do anything for us,” Sally sneered. “Or should I say that you won’t do anything for us?”

“Did you even listen to anything the man said?” Frank demanded, staring his secretary right in the eye. So far, Red had put up with her shit with the patience of a saint; Frank was no saint. “He’s telling us exactly what needs to happen before he can help Billy. I don’t see anyone else exactly lining up to even try, and that’s even with you talking to him like some punk kid.”

Sally’s eyes widened and her mouth flew open. She stared at Frank for a long time before letting out an indignant sniff and grabbing her purse. “I should have known you would take his side in this, Mr. Castle. I don’t think you actually care one way or another if Mr. Everett goes to jail for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“She always been like that, Red?” Frank asked as he watched her walk out the door. 

Red let out a hearty laugh. “As long as I’ve known her. I’m surprised you actually can manage to shut her up—no one in the family has ever been able to do it.”

“That have somethin’ to do with your partner not being around?” 

“I’m not quite sure I should answer that.” Red shrugged, looking serious once more. “Either way, I’m going to help your friend in any way I can.”

“Listen, I’ve got a little cash to handle the bills. It’s not much. I’m certainly no Howard Hughes, but I want to let you know I’ll pay whatever I can,” Frank promised. He’d already done the math on what he could afford before walking in the office doors. Despite Sally’s insistence that her nephew would take on Billy’s case for free, Frank didn’t expect something for nothing. 

“No,” Red said firmly. “There’s really no need for that. As a partner, I get to take on pro-bono work as I see fit. Even though Sally has never been my favorite person, she is family—in a sense. I owe the Nelsons everything I have. I won’t take money for helping Mr. Everett.”

“But you don’t owe me shit...or Billy. I’m not the kind of man who takes charity.”

Smiling softly, the blind man let out a small sigh. “What about the kind who gives it? I know it probably meant nothing to you, but that night back then… what you did for me. It meant something to me. We don’t have to talk about it ever again, but what you did for me that night…” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

“What did it mean to you, Red?” Frank asked. He could feel his mouth go dry as he let himself remember the feel of the other man’s lips against his, and he damned himself for not being able to let go of the memory.

For a long moment, Red was silent, and through his dark glasses, it almost felt like he was looking right at Frank. “For a little while, I wasn’t alone.”

“It meant somethin’ to me too, Red,” Frank admitted. “It meant somethin’ it shouldn’t. Send me the bills for anything you do for Billy.”

Frank hadn’t intended to walk away without saying goodbye, but he couldn’t actually force any more words to come out. He tossed a glance over his shoulder as he left the office. A big part of him wished that Sally’s nephew hadn’t pussied out of coming into the office that day. Seeing Red...Matt again had blown the lid off a pandora’s box that he’d thought he’d buried a long fucking time ago.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

Matt straightened his tie and combed at his hair for the millionth time since deciding to go through with the farce of a date he had planned with “Natalie.” He didn’t know why it mattered what he looked like for the damned thing, but somehow it did. It had needled under his skin for some strange reason that Natalie didn’t seem to think much of him as an asset—granted, that was probably a miracle in disguise—and he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his blindness. Matt Murdock was often under estimated, but not Daredevil. Daredevil was something of a wonder to most people. He wasn’t used to that side of himself being found lacking. The idea of it rankled like nothing else he’d felt since pulling on the costume for the first time.

“You look wonderful, Mr. Murdock,” Janet said as she stepped into his office.

He’d been so busy preening that he hadn’t heard her and that set him even further off kilter. Forcing a smile, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thank you,” he murmured.

The secretary giggled. “She must be something special.”

“Oh, she’s completely different from any woman I’ve ever met,” Matt said wryly.

“I’m leaving those documents you asked for on the corner of your desk. Is there anything else you’d like before I go?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “Enjoy your weekend.”

On his way to the restaurant, Matt managed to regain some of his composure. He still couldn’t fathom just how fate had managed to pack so much into the last twenty-four hours. Finding out he was being recruited by spies and also having the man he’d spent much of his youth dreaming about appear in his office within the same day and a half was a bit too much for him. Rather than try to untangle the web of emotions in his mind all at once, he focus on what was directly in front of him: Natalie Rushman.

The conversation he’d over heard didn’t leave much room for him to believe that this was all some sort of misunderstanding. He’d certainly caught someone’s eye with his work as Daredevil, but the real question was who. “Fury” and “Widow” sounded like some sort of code names from some television show more than actual people. Matt wasn’t prone to fits of paranoia about communists or hidden Hydra cells left over from WWII, but he couldn’t rule out either possibility. Still, whichever government these people answered to, he didn’t want any part of it.

Standing near the entrance to the restaurant for a moment, Matt’s finely tuned ears sifted through the sounds of laughter, clinking silverware, and chewing until he heard the same man speaking as the night before. “Director, I assure that you that Agent Romanoff and I have the situation completely in hand,” he said with a slight edge of nerves.

“Really, Agent Coulson?” a feminine voice retorted with a lightly accented tone. “I find the fact that Fury decided to take his modicum of newly instated authority and send my best two field agents on a wild goose chase a bit distressing. I find the fact that the goose is still at large slightly more so.”

Agent Coulson’s foot was tapping below the table, and Matt could smell the tang of stress sweat even from where he stood. “Colonel Fury believes that Mr. Murdock could be an asset on the team he hopes to assemble, ma’am, but I’m not convinced. Natasha hasn’t been able to get close enough to find anything meaningful out, and all I’ve been able to confirm is that Daredevil did enter Candace Nelson’s apartment Saturday night.”

“Interesting,” the woman mused with a sigh. “I’ll leave you and Agent Romanoff to deal with your goose problem for now. I am warning you, Agent Coulson, don’t make me step in.”

“Gander, ma’am.”

“What?”

“Murdock’s a man so it would be a ‘gander problem,” the agent corrected.

The woman laughed. “Coulson, I hope for Fury’s sake as well as your own that this little project of his has some sort of fruition. Keep in mind that I’m not the only one watching.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The click of her heels heading his way sent Matt toward the door. He angled himself just perfectly as she stepped outside and WHAM! They collided with almost enough force to knock the mysterious “director” over, but she managed to grab hold of his shoulders to remain upright.

“Oh!” she cried in alarm.

Forcing his best ‘helpless blind man’ look, he touched her arm lightly where it still lay on his shoulder. “I am so sorry”

The Director seemed to regain her composer quickly and pulled away. “No harm done,” she replied lightly.

She was older than Matt had first assumed. Though her voice sounded quite young, the skin beneath his touch had a certain texture to it that he had learned came when women aged. Also, her perfume was a very slight lily of the valley fragrance—something he had learned younger women rarely wore. Her heartbeat was once again steady, but he could hear an almost deliberate cadence to her breath. If he had doubted she was a spy like Natalie...or Natasha, rather, he didn’t anymore.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he pressed. “I’m still so very sorry. Call me clumsy, I guess.”

“Perhaps, I will,” she said carefully with a hint of a smile in her voice. “I really am quite fine. Thank you for your concern, but I see that my ride is here.”

“Have a good evening, miss,” Matt replied, looking downward to avoid her catching the corners of his mouth twitching.

Again those heels started walking away from him, and Matt paused only a little as he heard her mutter to herself across the street. “Cheeky bastard.”

Stepping inside the restaurant, Matt let the familiar smells of red wine, garlic, herbs and rich tomato sauces wash over him. He had at least picked a place with good food to draw his battle lines in. He’d lost count of how many horrible first—and mostly last—dates he’d had at Domenico’s. It was easier to console himself after his date suddenly developed a headache if he had a nice veal cutlet in front of him. This time though, he hadn’t exactly chosen the place based on the food. He’d felt a need to be somewhere both public and familiar if things didn’t go well—which they probably would, because he didn’t have a plan at all.

“There you are!” Natalie purred from off to the left near the bar. “I would have bet that you’d be late.”

“Here I am.” He cocked his head in her direction and smiled. “I was always under the impression that being late was a woman’s prerogative, not a man’s.”

Letting out a little giggle, Natlie wrapped her arm around his. “So it is.”

They were seated in secluded little booth in the back of the restaurant. The seat curved sharply putting them almost side by side, and he wished they’d been given a table instead. There was a candle on table burning low and he could only hear the faintest hum from the lights above the soft music. Matt imagined that the place cut a romantic scene, but he wasn’t feeling very romantic at the moment. He did his best to keep a reasonable distance between them without actually avoiding coming into contact with her.

“Long day at the office?” she asked just after the waiter had poured their wine.

Taking sip of his wine, Matt shrugged. “My first client was an aunt of sorts who hates me for existing, so I guess you could say it wasn’t the best.”

“Why does she hate you?”

“No clue,” he answered honestly then shrugged. “I suppose she doesn’t think that I was worth the Nelson’s charity.”

“It wasn’t charity. They love you so much, Matt. Your eyes aren’t they only thing that don’t work if you think it was charity,” she said firmly.

Taken aback by the vehemence in her voice, he leaned in a little closer. “I don’t mean to pry, but your family back in Idaho...”

“Aren’t worth talking about,” she interjected. Her heartrate spiked suddenly before slowly made it’s way back down. For the first time since he’d met her, she actually seemed human. But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. “But I’m sure we can think of more pleasant things to talk about.”

Oddly enough, for a man who made his living mostly through words, Matt was horrible at small talk. He never seemed to think of the simple, effortless things to say that made up most mindless chatter. Maybe it was that aside from work and his other ‘work,’ he didn’t have any hobbies or real interest in things like sports or movies. Essentially, he was just a boring guy, and the thing that maybe most interesting about him he could never tell anyone. So there he sat, nodding vaguely and giving short answers when needed as Natalie talked her way through the meal. Coffee and tiramisu were in front of them before Matt finally worked up the gumption to finally bring up the topic he’d been mulling over for the last day.

“I wonder if Agent Coulson enjoyed his meal,” Matt murmured, trying to keep his tone light.

“He probably did,” Natalie affirmed wryly. “I had a feeling you suspected something was off, but I’m curious to know how you know about Coulson.”

Matt shrugged. “It’s not important. What is important is that I don’t like being played with, Agent Romanoff. Whatever it is that you’re selling, I’m not buying it, lady.”

To his surprise, Natalie...Natasha found his words hilarious and burst out laughing. “No, you’re definitely not interested in what I’m ‘selling,” she agreed through her laughter.

“Stay away from me and my family. I mean it. I don’t want involved in whatever you’re in,” he said sternly. The more she laughed, the more he wanted to strangle her. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, it’s not just funny; it’s hysterical.” She managed to sober up slightly. “I promise I’ll stay away from your family. They aren’t in any danger from me or S.H.I.E.LD, but we will be contacting you soon to talk about things that are probably best left for when we’re not in a room full of civilians.”

“Who or what is shield?” he demanded.

“This really isn’t the place to talk,” she said again as she collected her purse. Leaning in, she placed a light kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be seeing you soon, lover.”

After leaving the restaurant, Matt was a taught ball of anger and nervousness. He quickly changed into his costume and slipped out the back fire escape after listening for a bit for anything that would signal he was being watched. Breathing a sigh of relief, he vaulted from his building onto the next. Maybe he didn’t know the first thing about what was happening with this whole “shield” business, but he did know that there were still people who needed help in Hell’s Kitchen. Tonight, maybe more than ever, he needed them too.

Hell’s Kitchen had more than its fair share of masked weirdos and wannabe super-villains, but mostly it was the common criminals that crossed Daredevil’s path. For every Electro or Matador there were dozens of thieves, murders, and thugs. There was a predictability to it all really; he would beat up the bad guys and leave them for the cops before disappearing into the shadows and finding another. It was strange, but in a way, what he did made Matt feel almost safe. There was probably at least a dozen things wrong with it, but he felt comforted knowing that no matter what he could always help out his community. That particular night, though, Matt ran out of bad guys to hit before he found any peace. He headed back to his apartment taking a route that he hadn’t before, still keeping an ear out for Agent Coulson or Agent Romanoff.

The fact that he was a mere two blocks away from Castle’s autobody didn’t occur to him until he heard an engine backfire. Pausing on the corner of a rooftop, Matt settled himself down on the ledge and let his legs dangle. Perhaps if he was truly honest with himself, he would admit that circling so close to Frank’s shop wasn’t a complete accident. He’d made note of the address of the business earlier in the day, but had forced himself to focus on the impending date with Natasha rather than allow Frank to enter his mind anymore than he already had.

Though he’d prayed numerous times that his attraction to Frank was just a one time thing, it wasn’t. Matt had struggled to accept that about himself over the years. Frank may have been the first person that Matt had found himself undeniably attracted to, but he hadn’t been the last. Despite all of his attempts to force himself to find one girl or another sexually enticing, it had always been the boys that he found himself think about when he’d quietly touched himself as a teenager. These days, he tried harder to force himself ignore any sexual thoughts he had at all. He’d occasionally find himself taken in by the scent of a man or the rough feeling of a calloused fingers against his own from a simple handshake, but thinking that the object of his desire would be absolutely repulsed if they knew was usually enough to quell the rush of any lust he might have been feeling.

Frank was different, though. Matt couldn’t turn his thoughts off the way he usually did. Unlike every other man he’d every fantasied about, Matt did know what it was like to kiss Frank. He could still remember how Frank’s chilled lips had felt against his own. While it may not exactly be a welcome feeling, Frank did know what it was like to want another man the way that Matt did. And not just any man, for one brief glorious moment, he had wanted Matt in return. Knowing what it had felt like to have that almost made the fact that Matt was completely and utterly alone all the harder to swallow. Much like he couldn’t stop the fact that he still gave into the impossible wish to see again, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing that he could have a future with someone who loved him.

Pushing aside his thoughts, Matt drug himself to his feet and continued on home. Funny, how his body felt a million times heavier than it had a day earlier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Someone was in the shop. Frank was sure of it. He heard a door close followed by a heavy clanking noise. Years ago, he probably would have slept right through it, but the war had stolen the peacefulness from his sleep—along with what little innocence there ever had been in him. He reached for the gun tucked in the bedside drawer. As always, it was loaded and the weight of it was more familiar in his hand than he’d like to admit. He sat on the edge of his bed listening as something else hit the cement floor below. “Fuck,” he cursed softly, throwing on his dirty close from the day before.

His bare feet moved swiftly and silently over the cold, cement stairs down to the shop. He’d be damned if he let some shit-head kid steal from him. Pausing at the door, he heard the person on the other side shuffling through on the of the drawers. Frank pushed the door open and peered around the corner and aimed the gun at the thief.

With wide eyes, Billy Everett dropped the first aide kit he’d been riffling through and lifted his hands in the air. “Shit!” he cried out. “Frank, I swear I wasn’t gonna take anything but some gauze and aspirin!”

“God damn!” Frank dropped the gun and eased his finger off the trigger lightly. He reached for the fallen medical supplies at his feet.

“Honest, boss, I wouldn’t steal nothin’ from you, but I’m gettin’ desperate.” The kid looked like he was about to cry.

Frank regarded the kid with a bland expression. Billy had only been sixteen when he showed up in the shop office begging for a job. Dark skinned, pudgy and shy as all get out, he’d looked more like six at the time. Something inside of Frank had stirred, and he’d had a soft spot for Billy ever since. With training on the job and a little confidence, he’d actually started to seem more like a man than a scared kid—until now.

“You hurt?” Frank asked gruffly.

“One of Rigoletto’s men caught me with a knife in the ribs. It ain’t too bad,” Billy lied, trying to hide the pain on his face. “They found out I was hiding out in a hotel room.”

Nodding toward the stairs, Frank tucked the piece in the back of his pants and grabbed the kit. “Upstairs.”

In the dim light of Frank’s kitchenette, Billy stripped off his shirt to reveal bandages that were soaked through with blood. Pulling back the gauze, Frank shook his head at the wound. Already blood was flowing down Billy’s brown skin. “Needs stitching,” Frank murmured. He reached for a bottle from beneath the sink and began setting out what he needed from the kit. “It’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, and I ain’t no doctor. You’re probably gonna have a scar to show for it.”

“If I live that long,” Billy snorted.

“Killing a mob boss isn’t exactly a good way to ensure you live to be old and gray,” Frank agreed.

Billy grimaced as the needle pierced his flesh. “I told you; I didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Frank grumbled. “So what now? You gonna run off?”

The kid shrugged as much as he could given that he was being sewn back together.

“Sally’s got a nephew who’s a damn good lawyer.”

“I won’t live that long.”

Frank had seen the same haunted look in the eyes of dead men before, but he couldn’t stand it coming from the face of a kid he thought of as a friend. “You know somethin’ big, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Billy’s gaze flicked away.

“Christ!” Frank tossed the left over gauze back in the kit. “I’m callin’ that lawyer. They’ve got programs for people who know stuff Billy. Let the fuckin’ cops do their jobs.”

Billy let out a dark laugh. “Their jobs? You and I see cops very differently, boss.”

“I s’pose so, pal, but right now your choices are the cops or the mob. Want to hurry up and pick one?”  
“Call the lawyer.”

Frank pulled a matchbook from the pocket of the jacket hanging on the wall. Red’s secretary had called to give him the lawyer’s home number—just in case—a couple of days after they’d met. Even though he’d told himself that it’d be a cold day in hell when he used it, Frank had kept it handy. Now, it seemed Satan would be sled riding. He turned the dial on the phone, telling himself that his trust in Red wasn’t personal and knowing it was bullshit at the same time.

Red answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“It’s Frank. I need a favor.”

“What time is it?” Red asked groggily.

“Almost three.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

Frank bit his lip. He shouldn’t be surprised at Red’s readiness to help, but he was. Taking a deep breath, he switched the receiver to his other ear. “Look, Red, I got company. It turns out he may know something that people don’t want to get out.”

“Is he willing to talk to the police?” Matt asked. “I can’t help him if he keeps running. Depending on what he knows and who it’s about, there are options available.”

“Can I pick you up?” Frank asked.

There was a pause on the other end. “Sure. I’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. Let me know when you’re ready for the address.”

It took a bit of convincing for Frank to get Billy to even agree to hear the Red out. Nearly, the full twenty minutes had passed before Frank made it to his car. On his way by, he gave a quick glance to the sheet covered motorcycle that sat in the corner. He couldn’t help his mind from slipping back to another ride he’d given Red years earlier. The extra time helped him shake off any linger thoughts in back of his head. He needed to focus on what was happening with Billy.

Red was standing on the corner when Frank arrived. He parked directly in front of him and rolled the window down. “Straight ahead,” Frank directed.

The blind man didn’t seem to have any problem getting in with the aid of his cane. He slipped into the passenger side, looking grim and tired.

“You look like shit,” Frank mused.

“Well, you did wake me up in the middle of the night,” Red muttered in response as they pulled away. “And I’m assuming you didn’t get all dolled up for me either.”

Frank’s lips quirked up despite themselves. “Didn’t shine up my Sunday shoes if that’s what you’re askin’.”

They fell into an easy silence as Frank drove. Every now and again he would let the corner of his eye wander across the bench seat. It was disheartening to find that Red’s wrinkled clothes and dark, red stubbled jaw did nothing to lessen Frank’s attraction to him. He could imagine what it would be like to run his fingers over the pale skin peaking out from the above the missed top buttons of Red’s shirt. Averting his eyes, Frank pulled into the small lot behind the garage.

“Place ain’t much,” he murmured, cutting off the engine.

Red’s lips pulled up at the corners. “But it’s yours, so that makes it a lot.”

“Still a fucking optimist, Red.”

Frank led the lawyer up the stairs to his apartment where Billy was pacing in the kitchen. The kid eyed Red’s cane for a moment and gave Frank a dubious look, but Frank wasn’t willing to take any shit on that score. “Billy, this is Matt Murdock—one of the partners at Nelson and Murdock. He’s agreed to help you out.”

“It’s good to meet you, Billy,” Matt said holding out his hand. “I just wish it were under better circumstances...”

“Thanks for doing this, sir. I just don’t know where to go or what to do,” Billy murmured, looking at his shoes.

“Well, why don’t we sit down and you can tell me everything? That way, when we go to the police, we can have a unified front,” Matt suggested.

Frank steered him to a chair. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

“How did you meet Mr. Rigoletto?” the lawyer asked softly. There was something calming about the way he spoke, even Frank could feel it.

Billy sighed heavily. “My old man borrowed money from Rigoletto back when things got tight when I was a kid. That was back the first time my mom got sick. This time around… I tried to get a loan, but we don’t have nothing to use as collateral so… I thought I’d be able to scrape the money together faster than what I did. The night I went to Rigoletto’s office, something strange was going on.”

“Strange in what way?”

“There were men in black suits in the office with him. I was waiting out in the hall at first. I sat out there for a really long time. Then I asked Mr. Rigoletto’s man out front if I could use the john. On my way back the hall, I heard them talking about some kind of shield...”

“A shield? You’re sure about that?” Matt cut in sharply.

Billy nodded. “They had some kind of funny accents, I’m sure they were talking about a shield. They kept saying that Rigoletto hadn’t done his part to get rid of it. Next thing I knew, I heard gunshots. I ducked in the bathroom and hid, and then there were more gunshots out front. I stayed in the bathroom for a long time. When I came out, Mr. Rigoletto and his man out front were both shot dead.”

“Frank you said the cops were only asking questions about the murder of one person, right?”

“Yeah,” Frank replied, setting a mug right next to Matt’s hand. “They didn’t say anything about a second body.”

“Billy, this is very important: you have to try to remember exactly what they said about shield.” Matt leaned across the table with a serious look on his face. “Think back to when you were in that hall. I need as much detail as possible.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Murdock. It just happened so fast… They said something about how the shield was watching Mr. Rigoletto’s work and that he should have taken care of it. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what I heard,” Billy insisted. “I swear to you. I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never even held a gun in my life. My pops lived that kind of life—that’s not who I wanted to be. I wouldn’t have even gone to Rigoletto if I had another way.”

Frank had to bite his tongue to keep from say that there _had_ been another way, but somehow kept the thought to himself. He eyed Matt curiously. The easy confidence that he’d carried himself with earlier had worn off. His gut told him that something about this shield business had shaken him. “What now, Matt?”

Matt sighed and rubbed at his brow. “This isn’t a normal case… not now. I actually know something about shield. A friend of mine was approached by a group calling them that a few days ago. I’m not sure who they are or who they work for, but I got the impression that this may be a bit out of scope for the NYPD to handle.”

“Like communist spy level shit?” Billy managed to squeak nervously.

“I don’t know,” Matt answered honestly. “I take it you’ve heard of Daredevil?”

“Who hasn’t?” the kid quipped.

“Most people outside of New York, but I’ll take that as a yes,” Matt said with a wry smile.

Frank rolled his eyes. “What does that fruitcake have to do with anything?”

The smile faded from Matt’s lips. “He’s no fruitcake. I know him actually. He’s just a guy trying to make a difference in his city. Anyway, the point is that I need to get in touch with him before we do anything. This is exactly the opposite of what a lawyer _should_ be advising you to do, but I need you to lay low until I get some information from him. Do you think you can do that?”

Billy’s eyes had gone wide with fear by now, and he didn’t say anything. Biting back an oath, Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I know some place you can hang out for a few days.”

The three of them decided that it would be best if Billy stayed at the hunting cabin Frank had inherited from his father years back. It was a good ways outside of the city and secluded enough that no one would notice if there was someone staying there or not. The place sure as shit wasn’t the Ritz, but it would do in a pinch until Daredevil came through— _if_ he came through. Frank had his doubts on that one, but he wasn’t going to say so in front of the kid who already looked like he was about to shit himself.

Frank drove the long way back to Red’s place on impulse. He needed to ask him a few things that he hadn’t been able to in front of Billy. “So you and Daredevil…” he began slowly.

“Daredevil and I...” Red prompted with a slight frown.

“You two a thing or somethin’ like that? You seem pretty sure that he’ll help Billy without even askin’.” Frank added, trying to sound less jealous than he actually felt at the thought of someone else touching _his_ Red.

Red chuckled. “I am sure he’ll at least try to help, but no, we’re not a ‘thing.’”

“Look, I’m sorry if I went off on you the other day. It’s just I never expected something like this would happen. I mean with Billy and then you… Now, we’re tossin’ a costume into the mix. I’m spinnin’ here, Red. I want to trust you on this one, I really do.” Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Frank left out that he actually did trust Matt. It was Daredevil he wasn’t so sure about. Wasn’t that ass backward? Wouldn’t it be more logical to trust the guy who actually was a full blown hero and not some blind guy he made a pass at over a decade ago?

Frank pulled it into park in the same spot he had picked Red up at, but neither man made a move to get out of the car. Red reached across the seat and found Frank’s hand still on the gear shift. His fingers felt warm and so much nicer than they should.

“Frank, I swear to you: I will do everything I can to make sure that Billy stays safe. I know that probably doesn’t sound like much to you...”

“Nah, Red,” Frank cut him off. “That sounds like a shit ton more than anyone else has offered. You’re a good man, Matt Murdock. Whatever the hell this is, I just hope it doesn’t suck you in too.”

The blind man shrugged. “Would you believe I’ve been sucked into worse?”

Frank couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Somehow I can believe that. Just do me a favor and stay safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Red’s fingers were still resting atop of Frank’s own. The touch wasn’t unwelcome, but it was making him think about those fingers touching other parts of him. Even in all of this shit, he still wanted Red more than he’d ever wanted anything. Frank pulled his fingers back and looked away quickly before the thought could go any further.

“Need me to walk you upstairs?” he asked. “We’re right were we started off at.”

A ghost of a sad smile graced Red’s lips, and he shook his head. “I can make it. Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, Red.”

  



	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

Matt knew it was silly to show up in costume to the meeting he’d requested with Natasha’s S.H.I.E.L.D contacts, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He felt like his mind had been spinning for days on end, and he wasn’t sure what to expect at all from anyone lately. The costume might not offer much in the way of actual physical protection, but darned if he didn’t feel like he needed it. Somewhere along the line, he’d gone in over his head. Even when he’d gotten his head nearly beaten into the pavement by Namor, Matt had this sense that he knew what he’d been doing. Now, he could barely stand the thought of what consequences there could be if he made one wrong move. The papers had dubbed him “The Man Without Fear,” but he was so damn scared at the moment that it took all of his willpower just to move.

He swung onto the third floor balcony of the brownstone he’d been instructed to meet at, forgoing the door entirely. Inside, there were six armed men in various posts through out the building. Three on the first floor, two on the roof, and the final one on guarding a door that led to where the director and Agent Coulson were waiting. His arrival hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed either. He could hear them talking over some sort of radio system the moment his feet hit the stone of the balcony. None of them seemed surprised, and there was no activity signaling that he was about to be shot, so he opened the french doors and strolled right in. When he came to the room where the actual meeting would take place, the guard there merely opened the door and gave him a nod.

“Mr. Murdock,” the director said, rising from a couch to greet him. Coulson hung on her heels as she crossed the room. “I am Director Peggy Carter. This is Agent Phil Coulson.”

He took her offered hand gently and sized the pair up while he murmured the typical pleasantries. The director was in her fifties or around there. He could smell gun powder and a faint hint of black tea beneath her perfume and cosmetics. Her grip was soft—as were most women’s—but what surprised him about it was the strength. True, she probably wasn’t all that much stronger than most women of her build and fitness level, but she didn’t try to put on the aura of fragility that most women did. Coulson was much less surprising. He was fit but not overly so, and wore a gun beneath his freshly dry cleaned jacket. Matt couldn’t get a real gauge on the man’s age, but he would probably guess that the agent was maybe five or so years younger than his boss.

“Please,” the director said, indicating a chair opposite the small couch, “have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied awkwardly as he did so. The whole scene felt mildly twisted: a masked vigilante being asked to sit in a parlor room by a British spy and her armed minion. He had to force himself not to small at the absurdity.

“I must say that I’m glad you decided to come to us. It saved us a fair amount of time and effort, I must say,” the director admitted. “I’m sure you have many questions, and as I am sure you’ve surmised, we have quite a few for you as well. If you could, though, I wonder just why you decided to contact Agent Romanoff. She led us to believe that the whole thing was a bust.”

Matt shrugged. “The word ‘S.H.I.E.L.D seems to keep popping up in my life these days. At the very least, I want to know who you people are.”

“Agent Coulson, would you be so kind as to bring up some tea?” It may have been posed as a question in a soft British accented voice, but both Matt and Agent Coulson could see it for the command that it was.

“Certainly,” the agent replied blandly. Just because he was going to follow said order, didn’t mean he had to like it. “Would you prefer coffee, Mr. Murdock?”

“Nothing for me. Thank you.”

Once Coulson was out of the room, the director leaned back slowly and seemed to be looking him over—not that he could confirm eye movement with his heightened senses. “You fight enemies who at least have the good manners to reveal themselves, Mr. Murdock. It is easy for your to discern the real threats as they come. I almost envy that, you know. S.H.I.E.L.D—or the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division—does not always get that luxury. It’s quite uncommon for a foe to reveal their intentions so that we can thwart them. Our agency was born out of war with the intention to use every advantage that we could to stop those that would destroy this nation and it’s allies. Captain Rogers was the first powered individual to enter our ranks, but he was certainly not the last. We have operatives who, much like yourself, had no intention of joining us, but who saw the chance to work for a good that reaches beyond the boundaries of their neighborhoods.”

It was a nice speech. Her arguments were fair and seemed honest from what he could tell by her heart rate, but she had left out a lot. Invoking the name of Captain America didn’t exactly fill in the gaps that she’d hope to cover. Matt didn’t doubt that Director Carter was a formidable diplomat when the time came, but he was more skilled than most when it came to picking an argument—even ones that he didn’t know if he could win.

“But what happens to my neighborhood when I’m gone, Director? Don’t you think that my sudden absence would create a vacuum? I am capable of seeing the big picture, so to speak, but are you capable of seeing the smaller one?”

“If a painting is burned, does it matter if I could still see the individual brush strokes as it turned to ash?”

“Point taken. But I’m still not sure what you need me specifically for. There are dozens of powered and even non-powered people with skills sets and abilities that surpass mine. On top of that, I come with a rather large disadvantage attached,” he added. “I’m not sure that I’d be a great spy.”

“I’m sure Agents Coulson and Romanoff would disagree. I’ve rarely seen Phil in such a pickle and never Natasha. Prior to pulling the rug from under both of them, I would have agreed with you. Actually, I even fought against your inclusion on Colonel Fury’s list of candidates. You’ve surprised me,” she said with a hint of a chuckle. “How did you do it anyway?”

“I really am blind, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said uncomfortably.

“I don’t doubt that, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

Telling Director Carter about his abilities was a risk, but so was coming in the first place. Matt had hoped to get as much information he could without actually divulging much on his end. He should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“My remaining senses were somehow magnified after the accident. I can hear, smell, and feel things that no one to my knowledge has ever been able to. I’ve even developed an almost radar-like ability, if you can believe it,” Matt explained. “I could hear your agents talking in their car the night that Agent Romanoff came to my apartment. I could hear _you_ from inside the restaurant _.”_

“Interesting. Captain Rogers developed heightened sensitivity as well from the process that gave him his powers, but what you’re describing… Well, you’re right, I’m not sure anyone else has heighten senses to that degree.”

A knock sounded at the door, but Matt knew that Coulson had been standing outside for over a minute now. As he entered, Matt took stock once more of the activity in the building. The guards were still there, but it seemed were less on edge. Matt took that as a good sign and even accepted the cup of tea that was offered to him.

“I get the feeling, Mr. Murdock, that you’re close to your family?” Director Carter asked lightly.

Instantly, any good feelings he’d had fled. “I don’t see how that’s got anything to do with what we’re discussing.”

“It has a great deal to do with what we’re discussing,” she countered, adding a lump of sugar to her tea. “I have two children and a husband in California. My husband is a former agent himself, you see, but even he isn’t privy to all things that go on within the agency. My question for you is this: how many secrets do you think you can keep from your family?”

“They don’t know about my work as Daredevil.” It wasn’t a whole truth but it wasn’t a whole lie either. He assumed that they would know that Candace knew his identity, but he’d rather not confirm that suspicion either.

“Natasha told me she didn’t think they knew,” Coulson chimed in. His heart skipped ever so slightly, and Matt was suddenly thankful for the man’s appearance. “I think that we can all agree that keeping things from the ones you love makes things…difficult, but it’s ultimately necessary at times.”

“You still haven’t told me why you need me,” Matt sighed heavily.

“Your abilities make give you remarkable potential for surveillance as well as other exploits. We were hoping that you would work with us on an as needed basis for the time being with the hopes that you would consider a more permanent position in the future,” the director explained. She set aside her tea cup.

“Is this the reason Major Pain wanted me followed?” he asked, deliberately skewing the name. If she lied now, he’d have no choice but to go it alone. He was praying she didn’t lie.

She shook her head with a soft laugh but didn’t correct him. “No. I don’t think you’ll be a good fit for that initiative—not that it’s one I hold a great deal of hope for anyway. You, however, I believe have potential. I want you to report directly to me.”

“I have a career and a life outside of Daredevil, too, you know? How is it that I’m going to be able to drop off the face of the Earth with no one noticing?”

To his surprise, the director laughed. It was a pleasant sound that would have made him smile if he wasn’t wound tighter than a conductor’s watch. “Leave that to us, Mr. Murdock. In the morning, I will come to your office with a quite lucrative international matter. That won’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility—especially given your recent trip to Licthenstien.”

“That trip was supposed to have been for my own medical needs,” Matt said with a heavy sigh. Lichtenstien had been a disaster before it had even begun. He didn’t want to think too much about it.

“Still, it would stand to reason that you could have made connections in Europe,” she noted, seeming to pick up on his reluctance.

“If I say yes, to this—and that is still very much an ‘if’—there is something I would want your help with, as well.”

“Oh?”

Matt took a deep breath and decided that perhaps trusting Agent Coulson and Director Carter was his only shot at this point. He launched into the whole tale and waited for either of them to say something. The director was oddly silent, but beside her Coulson was tapping his foot.

“Rigoletto had been helping move arms into the city for an unknown player,” he divulged irritably. “We were hoping to catch whoever his buyer was when the exchange happened, but then he was killed. The shipments mysteriously disappeared even under heavy surveillance without so much as a trace.”

“And your ‘client’ only heard the men speaking? He didn’t recognize the accent even?” the director prodded. “I’m afraid a male voice alone doesn’t give us much to go on.”

“It doesn’t,” Matt agreed, “but it’s enough to put Billy’s life in danger.”

“So you’re looking for protection for the boy?” Coulson asked.

“I am.”

“Coulson, I’ll leave Mr. Everett in your hands,” the director said with a slight nod.

“I’ll personally set up a safe house and a detail.”

“If anything happens to Billy...”

“Mr. Murdock, you are asking for our help,” the director cut in dryly. “Give us a little trust t

o do so. Now, if you don’t mind, I have arrangements to make before the morning.”

Matt left the building through the same route he’d came—a fact that seemed to amuse the director and Coulson. She’d given him a telephone number that she claimed led to a secured line directly to her and with the knowledge that he’d see her in the morning. All in all, he felt kind of numb about the whole thing. On one hand, he did trust them to keep Billy safe until things were sorted out, but on the other hand, he didn’t know what kind of bargain he’d just made.

Rather than heading back to his apartment, Matt made his way to Castle’s autobody. It was late enough that he was able to head across the rooftops without being spotted. He paused on the fire escape in the alley and focused in on the building. He could smell cigarette smoke coming from the rooftop and hear the steady thrum of Frank’s heart. He hesitated for just a moment before climbing up. The possibility of being found out was always there when he crossed paths with someone from his daily life in the costume, but for some reason that threat felt more real with Frank. Vaulting over the brick ledge, Matt landed easily and was only marginally surprised by the fact that Frank pulled a gun on him.

“Easy,” Matt said, holding up his hands for good measure. “I’m just hear to talk.”

Frank let out a grunt. “Have something against knockin’ on the door or a telephone call?”

“Not my style.” Playing it cool, Matt lounged against the brick idly. “Besides, these days, it seems more and more people are listening in.”

“No one watching the roof tonight?” the mechanic asked with a snort.

A few days ago, Matt would have laughed at the question. “Not tonight. I made sure of it.”

“Red says I can trust you,” Frank murmured. The gun wasn’t aimed at the vigilante’s head anymore, but it didn’t get tucked away.

“But you don’t,” Matt said with a sigh. It bothered him more than he was willing to admit, actually. “I have news about Billy.”

Frank leaned on ledge. “I’m listenin’.”

“I’ve contacted the government agency overseeing Rigoletto. They’ve agreed to take Billy into protective custody until they clear things up. It might not be a perfect answer, but I think it’s the best one for the moment,” Matt explained.

“Didn’t think you were a G-man, hornhead,” Frank scoffed. “So what just hand the kid over and go about our business?”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. Billy stumbled onto something bigger than what Murdock or I –or you, for that matter—can handle. Are you willing to risk Billy’s life going it alone on this, Frank?” That seemed to crack through Frank’s tough skull, and he took a long breath. Using the other man’s momentary silence against him, Matt pushed on. “Helping people is what I do, but this time, I can’t do it alone. You have to trust me on this one, Frank.”

“Trust you, huh? Why don’t you take off that mask? Then you and I can talk about trust. Until then...I think you need to go,” Frank’s voice was low and gruff. His heart rate didn’t falter, neither did his grip on the pistol at his side.

“Frank...”

“You heard me.”

Matt had to snap his jaw shut to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. He gave Frank a small nod before jumping from the ledge and onto the fire escape below.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added some tags to this fic. Please note that this chapter contains, gore and suicidal thoughts.

 

 

Frank hated himself for trusting Red. The moment he realized that the asshole running around in long johns and the blind lawyer were one in the same was same moment he realized that he’d let himself put too much fucking faith in Red. He felt stupid for falling for the blind man act—it had to be an act, after all—but more than anything he just felt angry. Pulling the gun on the vigilante had been mostly for show, but damned if Frank didn’t want to take his fists to Red’s pretty face for lying. More than anything, though, Frank felt like he deserved to have his ribs kicked in for getting so caught up that he fell for it all. Billy’s life was at stake and here he was letting his perversion override his good judgment.

His foul mood must have hung over him like a cloud because when he came down stairs to the shop—late for the first time since opening the fucking place—the mechanics all gave him a wide berth. Carlo paused for a minute, his long brown fingers still for probably the first time ever, before nodding to Frank and handing him a new work order. The others merely kept their heads down and kept on working. There was none of the usual chatter or joking that usually broke up the sounds of clinking parts and whirring power tools. Even the radio was suspiciously silent.

Frank’s old man had never asked him if he wanted to work on cars or if he liked doing it. He could distinctly remember being dragged into the shop for the first time at around six to sweep up and do other smaller menial tasks. By ten, he was helping with oil changes and the most basic repairs. Around sixteen his dad yanked him out of school to work in the shop full time. He can vividly remember the old drunk telling him that books weren’t gonna change the fact that he was destined to be a looser, so he might as well get used to the fact early. Thing was, even though mechanical work had never been Frank’s choice, he did actually enjoy it a way. It was satisfying that his hands could move almost instinctively to solve problems. Pieces that a lot of folks would look at in confusion simply fell together easily in his mind. There was comfort in fixing things under the hood of a car. As Frank’s hands moved that day, he was actually almost able to block out the impending shit storm on the horizon… for a shot time, anyway.

“Mr. Castle!” Sally called from the doorway to the office. He spared her glance over his shoulder and was pissed to see Red holding onto her elbow—as if he needed the fucking help anyway.

Frank wiped his hands on a rag and strolled over to where the pair stood. “Somethin’ you need, Murdock?” he asked gruffly.

“There’s a few things I wouldn’t mind talking about if you can spare the time, Mr. Castle,” Red said tightly.

The spinster between them shot each man a sharp look. “We have customers in the office. If you two gentlemen need to speak of private matters, I would suggest doing it elsewhere.”

“Up to my apartment,” Frank grumbled. He was damn sure Red didn’t want whoever the fuck was in the waiting room to hear what they were about to say.

Without so much as offering his arm, Frank stalked off towards the steps. If anyone thought anything at all about him leaving a blind man to follow on his own, no one said anything as Red trailed behind him with his cane tapping the way.

Once the door closed behind them, Red let out a long sigh. “I wasn’t sure you’d talk to me again without a gun in your hand.”

“If you’re really blind, how do you know I ain’t holdin’ one?” Frank challenged.

Red gave a shallow half smile. “There’s a gun in the apartment—several, infact,” he said. He used his cane to gesture to the tiny hallway that separated the bedroom and bath from the rest of the apartment. “Back there. One must be under something thick because the scent of gunpowder is more muffled. Under your mattress maybe? The other two are probably in some kind of closet. You smell like grease, coffee, cigarettes, and a bit of whiskey from last night, but you don’t smell like gunpowder.”

A sound of astonishment lodged in Frank’s throat. “You can smell the fucking guns two rooms away? Whiskey from the night before? What the fuck are you?”

“A blind lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen. I just happen to be a very unique one.” Red tugged at his collar as if the damn thing had only just become too tight. “I _am_ blind, Frank. That wasn’t a lie. When I was blinded, chemicals spilled over my eyes and face. I’m not sure what they were. Dad thought they were radioactive, but the company that owned the truck never admitted that. Either way, they changed me somehow. I can’t see, but I can sense things through my hearing, touch, smell and even taste that I shouldn’t be able to.”

“God damn.” Frank swiped a calloused hand over his face and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “Shit’s been crazy over the last four years or so ever since those astronauts turned all super powered, but this is… this…”

“I know,” Red said softly. “Sometimes, I even have trouble believing everything that’s out there.”

Frank pushed away from the table and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from underneath the sink. “Want one?” he asked, holding out the bottle.

“No. It’s a bit early for that.”

“So you can actually tell what I’m doing? How the hell does that work?” Frank poured himself twice the amount he usually drank. He had a feeling he was gonna need it to get through this conversation.

Red gave a small shrug. “Mostly. Large movements are easy to track using sound. Smaller things, gestures and facial expressions are still lost on me.”

“Fuck, you really are blind,” Frank mused.

In response, Red slid off his glasses. Frank had never seen Red’s eyes before and was more than a little shocked by the state of them. It was hard to tell what color they’d once been—blue, maybe—due to the heavy, white film that covered his iris and pupils. The skin around his eyelids still bore the slight puckering of scar tissue, and the fringe of his lashes seemed a little more sparse than normal. Frank was no doctor, but it was pretty damn obvious that Red had been telling the truth. In hindsight, calling Red a liar over it seemed petty.

“Sorry,” Frank grumbled in shame. “I guess that’s not something you’d lie about.”  
“It’s all right. I suppose that I do enough lying about things that it isn’t all that surprising that you’d ask,” Red admitted. He slid his glasses back on and gave Frank a dark smile. “Too late to say yes to that drink?”

Frank poured him one and topped off his own. “Anyone else know?”

“My sister, Candace knows. She’s a doctor and has been patching me up when things get too rough.” Red paused with the drink in his grasp. “I don’t know if I would have told her otherwise.”

“So what now?” Frank demanded. Now that the anger had faded, he was left feeling too tired to try to connect any dots.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D, the organization that Rigoletto’s men were talking about, contacted me a short while ago. They want to use my abilities for some kind of espionage. It seems that Hydra might not be as done for as we thought. The woman I talked to believes that Billy might have overheard something about them that puts his life at risk. The whole thing seems kind of outlandish, but they’re on the level, from what I can tell, though. And believe me, it’s _very_ hard to lie to me,” Red added before taking a long drink.

“I can’t believe that they’re willing to help Billy for nothin’,” Frank said with a snort. If his time in the military taught him anything, it was that Uncle Sam didn’t do nothin’ for free.

“They aren’t. I’ve agreed to lend minor assistance here and there in exchange for Billy’s safety.” Red ducked his head nervously.

“Why do you do this, Red? Any of it? You go out there and get yourself half-killed for nothing. Now, you’re letting some shady organization put their hooks in you,” Frank spat. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

Red shrugged. “Better me than someone else.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse.” The vehemence in Frank’s voice surprised even himself, and Red’s head snapped up.

“I want to help! I can’t sit back and do nothing while people suffer,” Red said flatly.

“Yeah, well, sometimes there’s nothin’ you can do,” Frank shot back.

Red’s expression softened. “What happened to you, Frank? I remember a boy willing to beat the shit out someone for hurting your friend. When did you stop trying to protect people?”

Frank’s head swivels of its own accord to where the lone picture hangs on his wall. It was taken when Frankie was four and Lisa was seven. All of them are in their Sunday best. The four of them are smiling happily for the camera. It was a god damned lie. He didn’t protect his family from anything. Not from the monster that clawed inside his skull when he tried to sleep and sure as hell not from the ice that sent their car careening into oncoming traffic.

“When I realized that I couldn’t.”

“You lost someone,” Red said in a voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Haven’t we all?”

Thankfully, Red didn’t push. He finished his drink and set the glass down on the table. “I’m meeting up with an agent named Coulson tonight. He’s the one who’ll be putting the boy into protective custody—his family too eventually. Can you meet us at this address around midnight?” he asked, pulling a card from his breast pocket.

Frank took the rest of the day off. Sally actually asked if he needed to see a doctor when he told her. Her eyes showed a bit of compassion for him he hadn’t realized was there. She may be a mean old bat, but it seemed she cared even just a little for her boss. The thought shouldn’t have made Frank feel better, but it did.

Upstairs, he packed a few random pieces of clothing and the guns that Red had sniffed out in his closet earlier into his old rucksack from his Marine days. Despite what Red said about these S.H.I.E.L.D people helping them, he couldn’t stop the paranoia that set in. He wasn’t going to be unprepared if things went badly. Lifting the edge of his mattress, Frank pulled the pistol from underneath and sat down, turning the cold metal over in his hands.

Frank had bought this particular gun with one purpose in mind two days after they buried his family. He’d gotten raging drunk in the cemetery sitting next to the freshly covered graves. Maria on the left and the kids on the right with an extra space kept empty beside his wife for him someday. That night, he aimed to fill that spot. He’d put the gun to his temple and was just about to pull the trigger when he noticed the white roses on his daughter’s grave. Though he wasn’t sure who’d put them there, someone had cared enough to put roses on his baby girl’s grave. All of a sudden, the thought of spraying his brains across those rose and her headstone made him sick, so sick he’d had to stumble off out of the way of the graves and puke his guts out. When he came back, he tucked the gun into his belt and sat down to cry. Frank wasn’t afraid to die. He wanted to die so badly, but the thought of doing one more thing to let his family down wouldn’t let him do it. Since that night, he’d kept the gun close when he wasn’t working. Occasionally, he’d test the feeling of it in his hand just in case their ghosts had let go of him just enough that he could finish the job. So far, they hadn’t.

The drive up to camp took about six hours. It wasn’t even seven in the evening when he arrived, but he reasoned that he needed to talk a few things over with Billy before the G-man and Daredevil arrived. When he pulled up to the cabin, he immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up. It was the same feeling he’d had overseas when they were about to be ambushed. Reaching back into the car, he pulled his pistol out and shoved it in the back of his pants before sliding out the shotgun and a flashlight. Both weapons were loaded and at the ready as he moved closer.

His suspicions were intensified when he tried the front door, and it was unlocked. Billy was first and foremost a city boy. His first instinct would have been to lock the door—especially, given the situation. Frank took measured steps into the darkened cabin. It was late enough in Spring that there was still daylight filtering through the cabin window to light his way. Each step he took further inside brought a colder feeling to his gut.

“Billy?” he called cautiously. Only silence greeted his ears. A few steps further and Frank saw why.

Billy’s corpse was sitting upright in an old winged-back chair facing the fire place. His brains were splattered in a halo pattern over the faded upholstery. A gun that hadn’t belonged to either Billy or Frank was dangling from his stiffened hand, and there was a piece of paper folded on the table beside him. The kid’s dark eyes were still open, staring into nothing.

“Damn it,” Frank cursed softly. He reached out and closed Billy’s eyes, feeling both sickness and rage building in his gut.

With or without Red and his spy friends, Frank made a vow right then to find out who the fuck had done this. Billy hadn’t been an angel—far from it—but he was a good kid who didn’t deserve any of this. Someone was going to pay for this shit. Frank wasn’t going to let this go.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Six hours was a long time in a car with someone you barely knew. It was even longer if most of those hours were nearly silent. Coulson and Matt didn’t exactly trust each other much yet. That hadn’t been helped by the fact that until he’d gotten the phone call from Frank, Matt hadn’t divulged where they were keeping Billy. Coulson was furious that Matt hadn’t mentioned that the kid was outside of the city. He didn’t believe Matt when he said that until that afternoon that not even he’d had the address of Frank’s cabin until that day. It had been an extra layer of precaution, but ultimately a failed one. Whoever had gone after Billy, Matt had his doubts that it was simply Rigoletto’s faithful former stooges calling the shots.

Stretching his senses, Matt tried to make out something of the scenery that was whipping by them, but they were going too fast and things were too spread out for him to discern much. He let out a small sigh and ran his fingers over his watch. Their original midnight rendezvous time had come and gone. He wondered if Frank had gone back to the cabin or if he’d stayed in the town he’d made the call from. Knowing Frank, he’d gone back. The macabre image of Frank sitting alone in a secluded cabin with the corpse of his friend didn’t sit well with Matt. He wished… he wished what? That he could comfort Frank in some way? Even he knew that Frank wouldn’t be the most receptive to Matt’s support, especially not now.

“We should be in Chapel Falls within an hour,” Coulson supplied. “We’ll need gas.”

Matt nodded. “Frank said the cabin’s not far after that.”

“I’ve got to ask something, if you don’t mind?”

“Go ahead,” Matt prompted. There were dozens of things he could think of for the agent to ask him and very few Matt would be willing to answer.

“Can you drive?” Coulson asked.

The burst of laughter that erupted from Matt caught them both by surprise. In the midst of everything, _that_ was what Coulson wanted to know? It was a ridiculous question on the surface, but less so given that Coulson knew about Matt’s abilities. “You know, I’ve never been asked that before.”

Coulson chuckled. “But with everything you can...sense, is that the word for it?… You’ve never thought of trying it?”

“I’ve never had to try, but I would think being able to read signs or seeing traffic lights wouldn’t be my strongest suit. Why? Are you offering to let me drive?”

The agent let out a sniff. “No one drives Lola but me.”

“Your car’s name is Lola?” Matt shook his head.

“She’s not just any car,” Coulson said with obvious pride in his voice. “I’ve been working on a few modifications on her with Howard Stark. She’s a very special machine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Matt assumed that they were about to fall back into silence, but the other man surprised him. “Now that you’ve sated my curiosity about driving. My real question: how much exactly do you know about Frank Castle?”

“Next to nothing. We met once when we were younger. It’s only coincidence that he employes my foster father’s sister. She’s the one that got Frank to come to me with this whole mess,” Matt explained. He paused for a moment because that didn’t feel like the complete truth. “I know he’s a good man.”

“He has quite an impressive war record. Did you know that he’s been awarded six commendations for courage under fire? How about that he was a trained member of the Marine special forces?” Coulson asked. He was doing his best to sound casual, but it was damned obvious he was building to something. Matt didn’t need his heightened senses for that.

“I’m not surprised that Frank’s a brave man,” Matt replied quietly

Coulson let out a snort. “Did you know he beat his wife? Or that she was leaving with the kids to go live with one of her brothers when they had the accident?”

The words hit Matt’s gut like a sucker punch. For a moment, he could hardly breath. “He wouldn’t hit his wife.”

“He did at least once,” Coulson said. “There was a police report filed September, 1960. A neighbor girl was sneaking back in her bedroom window when she heard Mr. Castle yelling followed by Mrs. Castle screaming. When the police got there, Mrs. Castle had a blackening eye, but she refused to press charges. Two months later, she was planning to move to Pennsylvania with her brother when their sedan hit a patch of ice and slid into oncoming traffic. Mrs. Castle and the children were dead on the scene. You really didn’t do any digging on this guy, did you?”

Matt turned his face towards the window. It didn’t make a damn bit of a difference for him, but he didn’t want Coulson to see his face just then. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his expressions not to give anything away. Report or no report, Matt couldn’t believe that Frank would hurt his wife. His gut still told him that Frank was a good man, but could he trust his instincts on this one?

Just as predicted, they made Chapel Falls in about an hour and the cabin in a little under another half. The change from the well-kept interstate and town roads was pretty distinct. Rather than the smooth vibrations of pavement beneath the wheels, choppy gravel shifted beneath them, vibrating the whole way into Matt’s jaw. The air was thick with pine and dozens of other trees and plants that he couldn’t identify. There were animals in the woods as well, but Matt didn’t pay too much attention to any of that. They weren’t on the back roads long when he could smell blood in the air.

When the car pulled to a stop, neither man moved at first. “Well? What can you tell me from here?” Coulson asked.

“Frank’s alone. He’s moving to the door, so it’s a safe bet he heard the car coming. He’s armed, but the gun isn’t pointed at us just yet. Billy’s been dead for around a day, I’d guess. The blood isn’t fresh, and the scent of the gunpowder is slightly faded.” Matt didn’t feel the need to add that Billy’s bowels and bladder had released when he died. He was sure Coulson had been around a dead body before, and he wanted to preserve what little dignity the poor kid had left.

Coulson snorted softly. “Impressive. If you’re half of what Natasha and the director think you are, you could be quite an agent.”

“You’re not sure?” Matt asked.

“I’m not sure you know how to work well with others, Mr. Murdock.” The assessment is plain and simple. It’s also fairly true.

Neither man was eager to continue that conversation when they had bigger things to worry about. Frank met them on the cabin’s tiny porch. He smells like salt tears, coffee, and whiskey.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered with a gravel-like voice. It took everything inside of Matt not to offer some kind of condolences, but he needed to keep his head in the game.

“Frank, this is Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson, Frank Castle.”

The two men murmured something that almost sounds like pleasantries as Matt moved to the porch and instantly caught a lingering scent in the air that turned his stomach even more than the body fluids. He couldn’t place the scent instantly. It was definitely a chemical of some sort, but not one he’d encountered before. To say the smell was unpleasant would have been a gross understatement.

“You gonna puke, Red?” Frank asked roughly. He was almost instantly at Matt’s elbow.

Matt shook his head and took a few steps further into the cabin. “There’s something in the air. It’s strong. Like sulfur, but not.”

“Other than the obvious, was anything out of the ordinary when you got here?” Coulson asked.

“Door was unlocked. Nothin’ looked like it had been moved much beyond what Billy would’ve done living here.” Frank’s voice caught just a bit on the kid’s name, and he paused. “There’s a note sitting by him. I didn’t pick it up. I doubt he wrote it, ‘cause the gun in his hand ain’t one of mine and it’s not the one that Billy had with him when I dropped him off.”

“Fair enough,” Coulson replied evenly. He turned his attention back to Matt who was still feeling slightly sick. “Are you sure you’re okay, Murdock?”

Matt opened his mouth to say fine, but the words wouldn’t come out properly. He was vaguely aware that Frank was calling his name and grabbing his shoulders to keep him upright. Everything felt like he was underwater. Next thing he knew, he was in the passenger’s seat of Lola presumably a fair distance from the cabin. He shook the last of the haze from his brain and realized that Coulson was crouching beside him at the open door.

“Welcome back to the living,” the agent quipped. “I know you didn’t get squeamish on me back there. Mind telling me what _did_ happen?”

“Whatever that chemical in the air is, it’s not something that is likely to have been there by accident,” Matt grumbled, rubbing his temples.

Coulson nodded. “I have a team on their way now. I wanted to see what you could field before too many people got on site, but I don’t think sending you back in there is a good idea.”

Gritting his teeth, Matt sat up a little straighter in the seat. “I can go back in. I just wasn’t expecting whatever that was.”

“When I said it wasn’t a good idea, what I actual meant was you _aren’t_ going back in. That’s my call, not yours. You may not be S.H.I.E.L.D, but at least have the good sense to learn a few things from us.” Coulson stood and slammed the door shut before Matt could argue.

They drove back to town with Frank following them. Coulson had already called to get them rooms before they left New York. Matt wouldn’t admit that he was damn glad for it. He was still feeling the effects of whatever had been lingering in the cabin air, and he was exhausted. Matt got out of the car, grabbing his cane for the first time since leaving the city. Coulson was still less than pleased with Matt, and it wasn’t a surprise when he charged ahead to the tiny motel office to get their room keys.

Frank walked over to where Matt stood and let out a low whistle. “Agent Coulson’s got himself a nice ride. You’d like it.”

“Why’s that?” Matt asked, not feeling like playing whatever game Frank was starting.

“It’s the same color as your fucking clown costume, Red.”

The corners of Matt’s lips twitched upwards against his will. “Her name’s Lola.”

“He would be the type that names his damn car,” Frank chuckled. He sobered and leaned against the door lightly. “You looked half dead back there.”

“You mean when I was swooning in your arms,” Matt amended bitterly.

“I didn’t tell your friend, but when the longer I was in the cabin, I started to feel a little funny. I thought it was my imagination. Maybe it wasn’t,” Frank confessed with a shrug.

“Funny how?” Matt frowned and tightened his grip on his cane.

“I dunno. When I first got there, I was so fucking angry. I _wanted_ to hurt someone, but the longer I was there it was like the will to fight—the will to do anything just drained right outta me. It almost felt like I was waiting for orders,” Frank explained.

“Why didn’t you tell Coulson?” Matt hadn’t really needed to ask. He already knew.

Before Frank could answer, Coulson reappeared. “Off the car, Castle. You’ll scratch the paint.”

Frank grumbled something that would have made a sailor blush, but did what he was told. “Room keys?” he demanded.

“Bad news. There were only two rooms held for us by mistake. I’m going back out to the cabin, so I’ll take the single. You two have the double. Get some rest and feel free to head back to the city when you wake up.” Coulson handed Frank a key and crossed round the car. Before getting in, he let out a deep sigh. “Things aren’t exactly looking up, but I promise you both, we will find out who did this.”

“Son of a bitch,” Frank muttered under his breath. “Coulson, before you go back there. There’s somethin’ you should know.”

Matt couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as Frank repeated the same thing he’d already told Matt over again. When it was over, the agent rubbed a hand over his jaw in frustration. “But Matt, you only felt sick. Nothing else?”

“If I did, I didn’t overrule the sickness,” Matt confirmed.

Coulson crossed his arms over his chest. “Change of plans. Don’t leave in the morning. I’ll have an agent sent round to take blood samples from both of you. Maybe whatever’s back there is lingering in your systems.”

Once Coulson was gone, Matt and Frank headed to their room. Matt took his things into the bathroom with him to change, giving Frank the room to do the same. With his own pajama bottoms in his hands, Matt couldn’t help hearing the distinct sound of Frank’s zipper releasing. Taking a deep breath, Matt pulled his pants on and tried to pretend he was deaf for the moment as well as blind. Privacy wasn’t something that Matt’s powers allowed for. It was hard not to know exactly what was going through the thin door between them and harder still not to at the very least imagine what it would be like to be the one helping Frank strip. Matt’s fingers itched to know the valleys and swells of each of Frank’s muscles. His lips burned at the thought of brushing against whatever stubble graced Frank’s jaw. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Matt hurried about the rest of getting ready for bed before turning over the bathroom.

“All yours,” Matt murmured.

If Frank nodded, the gesture was too small for Matt to catch. Instead of heading for the now vacated bathroom, Frank sunk onto the edge of one of the twin mattresses. “You know what I keep wonderin’, Red?”

“What?” Matt asked softly. He wasn’t feeling brave enough to sit on the same bed as Frank was, but he edged as close as he dared on the unoccupied one.

“That kid did everything he could to get that money, but come to me. Maybe if I wasn’t such a fucking bastard, that kid would still be alive,” Frank said with a heavy sigh. He dropped his head into his hand and started rubbing at his temples. Matt wanted more than anything to sit beside him and maybe even put a hand on his shoulders, but that wasn’t something Frank would invite—not from him.

“There are a million possible things that could have changed in this scenario. A million little details that would have turned this all on its head. You aren’t responsible for this,” Matt said firmly. “I could have come up here to guard Billy. Maybe this is all my fault, too.”

“How the fuck could you know they’d go this far for some nobody kid?”

Matt shrugged.

“With or without you and your friends, I’m gonna find out who did this,” Frank vowed. There was an edge to his words that made Matt’s blood go cold.

“Frank, you don’t need to get involved anymore than you already are. You’re already in danger. Walk away from this,” Matt pleaded.

“Would you?” Frank snorted.

“I can’t,” Matt whispered. In his heart, he already knew that there was no way Frank wasn’t in too deep already. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing you’re blind, Red.”

Rage replaced the icy feeling from only a moment before. “You think that’s funny, Frank? Do you think any of this is a game?”

“If this was a game, I wouldn’t have spent the last seven hours staring at the corpse of a kid that I cared about. You don’t get to make any calls for me, and you certainly don’t get to act like you give a shit about me.” Frank bolted up off the bed and began pacing like a caged animal. “You think because we met one fucking time when we were kids that you have some window into my god damned soul, Red? Let me tell you somethin’; maybe you remember that night fondly but I fucking don’t. I wish to god, I’d never met your arrogant ass. I don’t need you here telling me to stay out of somethin’ that I’m already asshole deep in.”

Matt was grinding his teeth so hard he could actually feel the microscopic bits of them shaving of against the side of his tongue. He stormed across the room and stood toe to toe with Frank. Matt wished he could stare the other man down the way his Dad used to stare down his opponents. Maybe that would have helped drive it all home, but Matt wasn’t going to standby silently and let Frank run head first into danger. “And what? You think you’re gonna be able to handle this on your own, Frank? You and your three fucking guns? Maybe you were some kind of hot-shit in the war, but the war is over! This isn’t Korea. You don’t have the army behind you this time,” Matt pointed out roughly. “And as for me having a window into your soul… fucked if I know why I don’t hate you right now. Maybe I should let you run off and get yourself killed. It would stop me from having to ask myself a lot of questions that I would prefer never to have to deal with. But for some god damned reason, I can’t do that. I don’t know the first damn thing about you, but I do care about you. I don’t even regret that you walked through my office door, even though God knows, I should. Damn you to hell for that, Frank!”

“Fuck you, Red,” Frank growled. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that Matt almost thought Frank was going to hit him. Matt began to shift his weight to the balls of his feet to defend himself, but when Frank moved, it certainly wasn’t a fist that made contract with Matt’s lips.

Frank was kissing him so hard that it almost hurt. Tongues and lips mashed angrily, and the tips of Frank’s fingertips dug into Matt’s shoulders. They moved breathlessly against each other. This wasn’t about love or attraction. This was about anger and desperation. Years of barely repressed needs were spilling out in one kiss. It felt both amazing and horrible at the same time.

“You done this before, Red?” Frank rasped as he pulled away. Matt was only vaguely aware that Frank’s hands had moved to the tie on Matt’s pajama pants.

“No,” Matt confessed.

Frank’s hands suddenly stilled, and there was a slight tremor that ran through the larger man. “Fuck.”

“I thought that was the idea,” Matt muttered wryly when those hands didn’t move.

“Not with me.” If Matt didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn that Frank sounded regretful about that, but before Matt could push the issue, Frank pulled away. “I’m gonna sleep in the truck tonight.”


	12. Chapter 12

Frank didn’t get much sleep in the car. Between being uncomfortable as all get out and on edge from the day, he wasn’t exactly surprised about not sleeping. In fact, he was almost grateful for it. He’d been worried about sleeping in the same room as Matt the moment Coulson announced they’d be sharing. This time, it had little to do with the undercurrent that ran between them and more to do with the fact that Frank wasn’t keen on the other man hearing him cry out in his sleep.

It didn’t happen as often anymore, but there were nights when Frank would wake drenched in sweat and screaming. His mind went back to the trenches on Pork Chop Hill in those dreams. He could see his friends and brothers-in-arms being blown to bits beside him, but the worst part of those nightmares was always the same. There was a young soldier lying not far from where Frank was hunkered down. The kid was screaming for his mother through a throat that was bringing up just as much blood as it was sound. Frank pulled the boy into the trench and began tying tourniquets on what was left of his thighs, all the while whispering how he was gonna be fine. Even as he worked, Frank knew it was in vain. Right before the kid died, he looked up at Frank with eerie blue eyes that stared out of his dirt covered face. He looked at Frank with such betrayal in his eyes. “You lied,” the kid murmured just before the light left his gaze. It wasn’t the blood and guts that haunted Frank. It was his inability to save that kid. Just like he couldn’t save his family. Just like he couldn’t save Billy.

Not long after dawn, Frank watched Red emerge from the room and head towards the little coffee shop across the parking lot. Red looked almost as tired as Frank was, and Frank felt the tiniest bit of guilt for all of it. Despite what Red did in his spare time, this was one hell of a mess that Frank had drug him into. Red didn’t really deserve any of this.

Frank waited until Red entered the other building to slip out of the truck. He needed a damn shower. Though he hadn’t packed anything as far as toiletries went and the cheap ass motel didn’t have any freebies, even just standing under the hot water did wonders. He’d wanted a shower the night before, but after how things went down with Red…

“Shit,” Frank swore, leaning his forehead on the tile. He could still taste Red on his tongue. His lower lip was a bit bruised from the force of their kisses, but it was a good feeling—even as wrong as that was.

The thing was that Frank knew he had been using Red the night before. He’d needed to feel something... _anything_ other than the gnawing emptiness and rage in his gut. He’d need a distraction or maybe just someone to blame, and Red had been there for both. If the younger man hadn’t admitted he was inexperienced, Frank didn’t doubt that he would have shoved Red against that wall and fucked him. Not because it felt good or because he wanted it right then, but because he needed a damned distraction. He used the fact that Red was attracted to him against the kid. The thought of it made Frank sick.

After changing into clean clothes, Frank decided that it was useless to try to avoid Red forever. He kicked at the loose gravel on the lot the whole way to the coffee shop, hoping that it would release even just a little bit of what was building in his chest. It didn’t.

He spotted Red sitting in a booth along the window. A waitress with bottle-bleached blonde hair piled onto of her head was refilling his cup and batting her eyes at him uselessly. For his part, Red was giving her a nervous smile. Part of him wanted to tell the lady she was barking up the wrong tree just to be a bastard. Things would be easier if Red hated him. Frank slid into the booth across from Red earning him a disappointed look from the waitress, but she murmured she’d be back with another cup of coffee.

“You don’t look like you slept any better than I did,” Frank murmured. He thanked the waitress and took sip of coffee. “Maybe I should have let you take the car.”

Red’s lips thinned. “I didn’t make you leave.”

“No, you didn’t,” Frank agreed sullenly. “And I’m sorry for what I did last night. You didn’t deserve to have me take my shit out on you. You certainly didn’t deserve...didn’t deserve for me to...”

“You don’t need to apologize for that part, Frank. I understand. You were upset and who knows how long that stuff stays in your system,” Red said softly. He gave a one shouldered shrug. “I think we can agree to forget about it.”

“Yeah,” Frank drawled. “We can forget about it.”

Like hell Frank could forget it. He didn’t think for an instant that Red would either, nor did he think that either of them believed that cock and bull line about the chemical having lasting effects. What happened had been wrong for so many reasons, but Frank couldn’t say that he still didn’t have the image of Red’s tender looking lips burned into his brain.

The food came as a welcome distraction. Only as he was shoveling eggs and bacon into his pie-hole did it occur to him that he hadn’t eaten at all the day before. It didn’t matter to him that his eggs were a bit over-done for how he liked them or that the bacon was a little too chewy. He could eat just about anything with little thought to how it tasted. Between his father’s sad attempts at keeping both of them fed and the less than appetizing things he’d made due with in his Marine days, Frank had a gut practically made out of cast iron. Red, it seemed was a picky eater. While Frank was putting his plate away with gusto, Red was pushing at his scrambled eggs with the back of his fork with a frown.

“Not hungry?” Frank asked.

“Stomach’s still a bit off,” Red admitted with a heavy sigh. He gave Frank a lopsided grin and pushed the plate across the table. “Here.”

Frank gave a snorted laugh and stacked the full plate on top of his empty one. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Frank and his old man had seen a lot of lean years. That wasn’t particularly rare or much of a secret. They’d barely made due at times, and there’d been nights when Frank laid in his bed with his belly button pressed to his backbone. Food wasn’t something you wasted. Ever. Somehow, Red had guessed right when he handed over that plate. It stood to reason that Red would have been able to hear Frank’s stomach growling when he walked in, but not how Frank would feel about food. After all, hadn’t Red grown up in some cushy household? Then it occurred to Frank that aside from the fact that he’d been adopted, he didn’t have a damn clue how Red had been raised.

“Was your mum a good cook, Red?” Frank asked before shoving the last of the soggy toast in his mouth.

“I don’t know about my birth mother. She was gone before I could remember. Mrs. Nelson, my Mom is a great cook. Her Sunday suppers are pretty much legendary.” It was amazing how Red’s face went from sour talking about his one woman to beaming while he talked about the next. “Yours?”

“Before she left… Yeah, she was one hell of a cook. I can still remember the way she made her gravy from her mom’s recipe. Whole house smelled like tomatoes and basil for days after that.” Frank smiled at the memory. “My old man though… Jesus, he’d burn canned beans nine times outta ten. My grandmother made sure I didn’t starve until she died. Thank god, she taught me how to get by in the kitchen or we mightta gotten food poisoning and died too.”

Red grinned. “Dad used to fry up ham steaks that were black on one side and still somehow cold on the other. Well, at least our dads tried. I don’t think Uncle Ted has even ever been in Mom’s kitchen.”

“Maria was a shitty cook, too though. Woman didn’t know which side of the spoon to use half the time. I did a lot of the cookin’ back then. I’m not exactly some fancy ass French chef, but I can hold my own.” A memory pulled at Frank’s gut aching to come out. “I remember one time, I came home, and the kids were both sittin’ on the front porch. They wouldn’t tell me why they were there. Maria had told ‘em not to, you see, so I had to bribe them with a nickel each. Turned out, she’d been trying to make me a birthday cake and the damn thing caught on fire. The whole kitchen was still filled with smoke when I went in. There was a big old black spot on the wallpaper behind the sink where she’d put it out.”

“What were their names?” Red asked softly.

Frank swallowed the lump in his throat. “Lisa and Frank Jr. Lisa was nine, and Frankie was six when they...”

Red nodded slowly.

The pair paid their bill and headed back to the room without much more conversation. Frank was just about to give into the temptation to lay down for a quick nap when there came a gentle knock at the door.

On the other side stood a slender woman. She was pretty enough, in a mousy sort of way, with long brown hair swept up into a ponytail. She looked like she belonged in a library somewhere, not doing work for a spy agency.

“Mr. Castle, I presume?” the girl asked.

Frank nodded. “Who are you?”

“Jemma Simmons. I was sent by Agent Coulson to take a blood sample,” the girl—Miss Simmons added. She didn’t look all that sure that Frank was going to let her in, and Frank wasn’t entirely certain either. He didn’t exactly trust anyone at the moment.

“Frank, she’s telling the truth,” Red called from behind.

Stepping aside, Frank let her squeeze by him. She immediately held her hand out to Red. “Mr. Murdock, I have to say that I’ve been absolutely fascinated by you.”

“Uh… It’s very nice to meet you, too,” he said awkwardly. He shook her hand, but he looked like he wanted to turn tail and run. Frank couldn’t help chuckling to himself at the thought that he had found Daredevil’s—the Man Without Fear—one big phobia: women.

The girl didn’t seem to pick up on Red’s discomfort. “It’s not everyday we meet some one who may have the key to crack the super soldier serum in his veins,” she chattered on still smiling.

Red looked a little sick. “Excuse me?”

“You were aware that the chemical that struck you as a child may have been one of the components of the serum that gave Steve Rogers his abilities, weren’t you?” she asked, frowning for the first time.

Red clenched his jaw and shook his head.

“Dr Erskine’s formula was lost, of course, but Mr. Stark hypothesizes that you may have encountered something similar in nature.” Miss Simmons looked away, biting her lip. “I assumed you knew.”

“Is that why you wanted the blood sample?” the blind man asked.

“We will be studying the compound left behind in the cabin,” she assured him.

“And nothing else?”

The young woman froze. “We’d love the opportunity to study you in depth, actually. I suppose I wasn’t supposed to be the one to tell you any of this, but now that the cat’s out of the proverbial bag...”

“No,” Red said flatly. “I won’t let you use me like that.”

“But the compound...” She began.

“Take my blood,” Frank chimed in. “I was in the cabin longer, anyway.”

Miss Simmons looked like she wanted to argue but nodded instead.

It didn’t take long for her to draw three small vials of Frank’s blood. She packed them in a small case that she’d brought along. On her way out the door, she gave Red a forlorn look. “I do hope you reconsider, Mr. Murdock. The implications of what we could do with that serum are practically limitless.”

Red snorted. “The army you could create would be limitless. Don’t fool yourself into thinking it would be anything else.”

Once the girl was gone, Frank spared Red a long look. He couldn't rightly decided what exactly was going on underneath that shock of red hair. It stood to reason that he wouldn’t want to be someone’s lab-rat, but he seemed more upset by the whole thing than Frank really thought was warranted. Part of Frank wanted to ask, but the rest of him knew that getting any closer to Red wouldn’t be good for either of them. It was too much already that Frank wanted to comfort the other man.

“Would you mind driving me home?” Red asked quietly.

“Sure thing, Red.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick side note about sexuality in the 60's: the safe sex movement didn't exist yet. Any precautions about avoiding STD's were by and large aimed at straight men. There was little, if any, effort made to ensure that gay men knew how to best protect themselves. AIDs hadn't devastated the community yet. Homosexuality was seen as deviance. I am not trying to romanticize this aspect about the era, nor am I advocating that people skip steps to ensure their safety.

Matt somehow managed to fall asleep on the trip back to New York. He wasn’t sure how. Coulson’s car had a much smoother ride and quieter engine. The rattling of the road beneath them and the myriad of sounds coming from beneath the hood should have kept him awake, but they didn’t. Matt was able to drift into a dreamless and light sleep. He woke sometime later feeling disoriented as the car pulled to a halt. It took only a second for his senses to kick in and for him to realize that they were parked in front of his building. Feeling slightly sheepish for having slept so long, Matt sat up and began straightening his clothes.

“Sorry for snoring the whole way,” he murmured.

Frank let out a short laugh. “Glad one of us got some shut eye. Don’t think I could manage it even if I tried right now.”

Running his fingers over his watch, Matt frowned when he realized that it was just a little after three in the afternoon. “You’re going on what close to two days without sleep?”

“That ain’t that bad for me,” Frank replied with a shrug. “Gone longer and probably will again. Don’t worry about me, Red.”

Matt had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying that he was going to worry whether Frank wanted him to or not. The veteran had been pretty clear on that front. But what struck Matt about the whole thing was the in-congruency of Frank’s words and his actions. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d wished he hadn’t met Matt, but then he’d sought him out to apologize. Frank tried to pretend to both of them that he didn’t care, but then turned around and proved that he did. Honestly, Matt wasn’t sure how to take it anymore, so he went with his gut.

“Do you want to come up for a bite to eat? I am guessing you didn’t stop for lunch on the way back,” Matt assumed.

Frank was quiet for a long time. It was one of the million times that Matt wished he could read facial expressions. He wanted to know what look Frank had in his eye just then. Was he uncomfortable? Was he trying to think of the best way to say no? Just when Matt was about to tell him to forget it, Frank opened the car door. “Food does sound kinda good right about now.”

Once they were inside Matt’s apartment. Frank made a small circle around the living room and kitchen area, letting out a low whistle. “Nice place, Red.”

“My brother, Foggy lived with me when I first moved in. It’s really too much for just me, but I don’t want to go through the hassle of moving…you’d be surprised how long it takes to memorize a new place for everything you own,” Matt admitted with a snort.

“So you really do have to memorize it?” Frank asked.

Matt shrugged. “My senses are great for big things. I very rarely run into things even when I’m not paying attention. It’s the little things that tend to be a pain. Even with my abilities, I can’t read the label on a package or tell what color a shirt is.”

“Hmm,” Frank intoned, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Guess I didn’t think of that.”

“I hope you don’t mind cold cuts. I don’t have much else,” Matt said, opening the fridge.

He grabbed a couple of beers from the side and handed Frank one. He didn’t usually drink much, let alone that early in the day, but he didn’t figure that a beer would be out of line after everything they’d been through. Matt busied himself throwing together a few sandwiches for each of them while Frank drank his beer at the table. He wasn’t sure how hungry Frank was, but he was starving so he settled for three each. They ate in silence for several minutes before Frank spoke.

“So why do you do it?” he asked.

Matt could easily pretend he didn’t know what Frank was talking about, but he didn’t have the energy to lie at the moment. “A lot of reasons… My dad was murdered when I was only eleven that was a major reason I started, but I suppose that’s not the true reason really. It’s more that I can hear everything that happens out there, just about,” he said gesturing across the room to windows. “I hear sirens and screams and gunshots… all of these things that I know I can do something about. One night, I just decided that I couldn’t just sit and listen anymore. I had to help.”

“And all of those times you’ve ‘helped,’ you’ve never been tempted to use a more permanent solution?” Frank asked.

“Once,” Matt confessed. He didn’t want to think about that night in the subway… the first time he’d put on the suit. He hadn’t spoken of that night to anyone—not even Candace—and that was the way it would stay.

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

Frank stood suddenly and leaned against the counter, scratching at his his jaw. “I am gonna find who killed Billy, Red. It doesn’t matter if you like it or not.”

“I’ll help you, Frank,” Matt promised. “But I won’t kill, and I won’t let you, either.”

“You think I don’t already have blood on my hands?” Frank spat with a dark laugh.

“You were a soldier… It’s not the same thing,” Matt said softly. He stood and put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “You had to do what you did in Korea, but we’re not there now.”

“Nah, Red. You don’t see it, but this is exactly the same thing. It’s a threat. It’s an enemy.” Frank’s head was turned towards him, and Matt could imagine that he was looking right at him. “I’ll do it all again if I have to.”

“Then I’ll just make sure you don’t have to,” Matt murmured.

“Damn it, Red. You need to stop caring about what happens to me. I ain’t worth it. I wasn’t worth it back then, and I’m sure as shit not worth it now.”

“Yes,” Matt said firmly, “you are worth it. You’re a good man, Frank Castle. It doesn’t matter if you see it or not because I do.”

“So I should trust the eyes of a blind man?” Frank joked—or attempted to joke.

Matt smiled despite himself. “In this case, yes.”

“Fuck. You make me want to do the stupidest shit. Did you know that?” Frank’s voice was low and rough. It sounded just like the callouses on his hands felt and sent a shiver down Matt’s spine.

“Like what?” Matt asked, breathlessly.

Without a word, Frank cupped the side of Matt’s face and kissed him. It wasn’t like the kisses from the night before. This was tender and deep—everything that Matt had wanted since Frank walked back into his life. Frank started to pull away, but Matt wouldn’t let him. Not this time. He was right where he wanted to be, wrapped in Frank’s arms, and he had no inclination to leave. Frank’s lips moved along the line of Matt’s jaw and behind his ear, causing the red haired man to cry out.

“God, I want you so fucking much, Red,” Frank breathed roughly.

Matt’s hands were tangled in Frank’s hair and his lips were pressed against Frank’s brow. “So have me. It’s what we both want.”

Frank let out an inarticulate growl. “Bed...now...”

They made an awkward shuffle into the bedroom with neither of them wanting to stop what they were doing and clothes being shed sloppily. Matt’s shirt was hopelessly un-salvagable as Frank decided not to bother with buttons. The garment was tossed roughly aside while Matt made quick work of Frank’s belt. His fingertips met the soft head of Frank’s hard cock and both men moaned slightly at the contact. Matt’s hand moved gently from the base to the tip, reveling in every inch of velvety softness in his grasp.

“Slow down, Red, or neither of us are gonna get very far,” Frank commanded between gasps. His fingers wrapped around Matt’s wrist, holding it still. “You got anything?”

Matt frowned. “Like what?”

“That answers my question,” Frank quipped with a chuckle. “Where’s your cooking oil?”

“Uhhh…” Matt’s mind went blank for a moment. “Cabinet to the left of the range.”

Stripping off the remainder of his clothes, Matt listened as Frank found what he was looking for. A second later, he returned with the slightly fruity smell of olive oil accompanying him. Still perplexed, Matt didn’t have time to ask what the oil was for as Frank’s lips captured his once more.

“You sure you want this?” Frank asked.

Matt nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” Frank said smugly. “Lay back for me, Red. We’re gonna go real slow.”

The smell of olive oil intensified as Frank poured a healthy amount into his palm and worked it lightly over both hands. Lining his erection up with Matt’s, Frank took both of them in his hand at once. The contrast of Frank’s rough fingers and smooth cock almost made Matt come instantly. His hips bucked up of their own accord as Frank moved.

“God, you feel so good,” he moaned.

Matt was beyond words at this point, but made his agreement known with a soft cry as the friction intensified.

“Not yet, Red,” Frank chided. He moved his hand and cock away—much to Matt’s utter displeasure. “Open your legs for me and lean back a little further.”

“Are you going to…?” Matt asked, not able to finish the sentence.

“Do you not want me to? We can go back to just touching if you don’t want it,” Frank assured him.

A knot was lodged in the back of his throat. He knew the rough basics of homosexual sex—the kind of stuff they told you to justify God’s wrath on Sodom, but nothing about the actual act itself. In the privacy of his own company, he’d explored his own tight entrance, but that was a far cry from what they were about to do. Thin shards of panic sliced through Matt’s gut about what he was going to do, but they weren’t strong enough to override what he was feeling for Frank—lust and about a thousand indescribable things more.

“I want you to,” Matt whispered.

Frank kissed him hard. He poured even more oil onto his hand and slipped one well lubricated finger inside of Matt, causing the younger man to cry out in both pleasure and slight pain. The pain subsided as Frank began to move inside of him, finding that perfect post inside of Matt. In that second any doubt Matt had about what they were doing melted away.

“Relax for me, Red. There’s no need to rush.”

Matt let out a mewling sound from somewhere deep in the back of his throat as a second finger was inserted. He felt himself stretching and accommodating the added girth. Each movement sent waves of ecstasy through Matt’s body as he rocked and arched along with the motion of Frank’s hand.

“Frank… I want...” he moaned, unable to get the words to form in his mind.

“I know, baby. I know,” Frank soothed. His fingers withdrew and a thicker, more pleasing part of him made its way slowly inside of Matt. With a cry that Brooklyn probably heard, Frank pushed himself completely in to the hilt and began to move. “So fucking tight, Red!”

“Please,” Matt begged. He wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for—that the feeling would never end maybe.

Frank’s pace increased, and he reached his hand down to Matt’s aching cock, once again wrapping it in that perfect grip. The sensation was too much after only a second of the added touch. “I’m gonna...” he whined. Before he could finish the sentence, he felt himself go, coating Frank’s fingers in warm fluid.

“Fuck!” Frank cried. Now, his thrusts were almost desperate. It didn’t take much longer before he too was spilling himself inside of Matt. Frank collapsed on top of Matt, still inside of him and breathing hard.

It took a long moment before either man could summon the will to move. Finally, Frank rolled off of Matt and hooked an arm behind Matt’s head. It _should_ feel awkward to cuddle up against another man, but awkward was the last feeling swirling inside Matt’s mind as he laid his head on Frank’s chest.

“Jesus,” Matt cursed. “Now, I’m going to get hard every time I smell olive oil.”

Frank laughed. “Then I don’t recommended walkin’ into Little Italy anytime soon.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Frank woke before Matt did. There was early morning light streaming in through the sheer curtains, and damn if the red haired man in the beams wasn’t a thing of perfect beauty. One arm was draped across Frank’s chest and his head rested on Frank’s shoulder. His features were relaxed in his sleep, making him look years younger, and his lips were curled slightly at the edges in contentment. A smattering of light freckles covered the bridge of his nose that had gone unnoticed until that moment. More of them covered the backs of his arms and his shoulders. Frank had a ridiculous notion to kiss every damned one. Letting out a small sound from his throat, the lawyer shifted a little.

“Good morning,” he said, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Morning,” Frank returned.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Frank paused for a second before answering. Actually, he’d slept better than he had in years. They’d fallen asleep shortly after a second round of sex and a shared shower. Somehow, Frank had managed to sleep through an entire night and wake up rested. “Yeah, Red, I did,” he said thoughtfully.

Red’s lips curled into a larger smile. “I always thought having someone sleeping in my bed would keep me awake. But listening to your heart… Having you here, though, I’ve never slept better.”

“Maria said I snored like a freight train,” Frank muttered skeptically.

“You do,” Red confirmed with a chuckle. “And every now and again you mutter nonsense. I’m good at filtering out sounds, though. I taught myself as a kid because the only alternative was to go insane from all of the noise around me, so I’d pick something calming and focus on that. Your heart… Listening to it last night, I just felt peaceful.”

“I shouldn’t have stayed, Red. I don’t deserve peaceful, and god knows, you deserve a hell of a lot better than me.” Frank sighed heavily and tried to get up, but a heavy hand pushed him back.

Red’s bit his lower lip and frowned. His unfocused gaze didn’t quite make Frank’s eyes, but it was full of an emotion Frank couldn’t quite understand—or more accurately, didn’t want to understand. “I’m not going to pretend to know what you went through. I’ve never been to war, and I can’t imagine losing a wife and children. I won’t ask you to dredge up any of that if you’re not ready to, but I am asking you to believe me when I say that you _do_ deserve peace. More than just peace, you deserve happiness and love… and a thousand other wonderful things. You are a good man, Frank Castle. That’s one of the things that I’ve never questioned.”

“Let me go, Red,” Frank managed to say through a tight throat. He couldn’t think of anything else at the moment, and he knew that if he stayed in that bed too much longer that he was going to do something dumb as hell like start believing Red.

Pulling on his jeans, Frank gave the room a cursory look around for his shirt. The article of clothing ended up being tossed at his head with perfect accuracy. He watched Red go about his business, dumping the dirty clothes in the hamper and pulling a clean pair of underwear from his drawer. It was pretty obvious that he was doing his best to pretend that he didn’t care that Frank was leaving and failing miserably. Without his usual glasses or the devil mask, his emotions were on display. He looked so damned hurt and angry that Frank was tempted to change his mind, but he knew that would only lead to problems for both of them.

Once they were dressed, Red followed Frank to the door. “I’ll probably hear something from Coulson fairly soon, and maybe you will, too. I doubt they can expect that you’ll just walk away and forget something like this,” he said grimly.

“They know where to find me and so do you,” Frank said with a shrug. “Either way, I’ll see what I can shake up on the streets. My old man used to get in pretty deep with a few bookies every now and again. Maybe it’s time I got myself a gamblin’ problem.”

“Frank...” Red began with worry plain on his features.

“If you’re about to warn me to stay out of it, save you’re breath. I’m not gonna listen to a guy who swings around the city blind wearing long-johns and using a couple a’ sticks to defend himself.”

Taking a deep breath, the lawyer cracked a half smile. “Fair enough. Just promise you’ll be careful, and if you need anything...”

“I won’t, but if I do, I’ve got your number.” Frank grabbed his bag from the spot he’d dropped it in the night before and headed to the door. “See you around, Red.”

“Frank, wait...” Red started, cocking his head to the side and suddenly looking stricken.

The warning came too late. Frank had already opened the door just as a woman on the other side was about to knock. Her hand was still in mid-air when she looked at him and her mouth wide in surprise. She was a shorter woman in her fifties with pale blue eyes and light brown hair. A grocery bag in her arm looked like it was filled to the brim and she brought her free hand down to support it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who she was.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he murmured uncomfortably as he shifted out the way.

Her mouth snapped closed, but her eyes were still wary as she stepped inside. Frank knew how bad it looked—how it looked like just exactly what it fucking was—with him leaving early in the morning looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. She looked him over from head to toe before finally tearing her eyes away to face her adopted son. “I brought you some soup, Matthew. Your brother mentioned that you’d taken a couple days off this week,” she said in a strained voice.

“Uh… thanks, Mom. You really didn’t have to,” Red protested helplessly. He put on his best game face and turned back to Frank. “And thanks for checking in, Mr. Castle. I’ll make sure to add all of that to our case notes.”

Nodding, Frank took the out that he was given. “Sounds good. Sorry for bothering you at home.”

On his way out, he felt the woman’s eyes burning into him once more. Shame washed over him as he realized what he could have almost cost Red. Finding out your son was a fairy wasn’t exactly something most parents would take well. He only hoped that Red’s mom found it in her heart to ignore what she undoubtedly had just pieced together. Jesus, Frank knew what woulda happened if his old man ever figured it. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Mario would have taken a baseball bat to him and thrown him out in the streets for good measure. True enough, Red was an adult, and it didn’t seem likely that his mother was about to beat him, but a beating wasn’t the only way to break someone. Frank knew that all too well.

He drove back to the shop, barely registering anything he saw along the way. He felt like a damn dead man walking. His body moved, but his mind was so far gone that it felt like he left it back in Red’s apartment. By the time he got tot he body shop, his chest physically hurt from all of the crap floating around inside. Frank snapped somewhat out of his stupor when he spotted Carlo, Jesus, and Tommy all leaning against the shuttered garage door.

Only rarely did Frank ask the guys to put in extra hours and never on a Saturday unless he couldn’t help it. With the two days he’d missed, he’d planned on spending his day finishing up the work that he’d missed out on. The shop was down two guys, but he hadn’t wanted to put an extra burden on his guys. The fact that they’d showed up without being asked caused his gut to tighten. He pulled his truck out back and headed back around the corner to join them.

“You guys all get your dates wrong the calendar,” he tried to joke.

Jesus grinned widely. “You know my English not so good, boss.”

Beside him, Carlo chuckled and nodded his agreement.

“And I only made it to the ninth grade,” Tommy added, sheepishly.

“You guys are somethin’ else...” Frank muttered, shaking his head with a laugh.

The trio followed him inside and immediately went to work on whatever they had been doing the previous day while Frank slipped upstairs to take a shower. He stowed the guns in their usual spots and took a good long look around the room. The apartment wasn’t exactly messy, but it was a far cry from the spotlessness that he’d seen at Red’s place. For the first time, he noticed a few cracks in the plaster here and there. He didn’t need to open the cupboards to know that there was next to nothing inside; just a couple place settings, a single pot, a single pan, and only coffee and oatmeal on the food side of things. It made him realize just how shabby his whole life had become. Wiping a hand over his face, Frank silently cursed Red for making him realize that he’d been moving along half-alive. Of course, on some level, he’d already known that, but after having a taste of what it could feel like to have more… Frank kicked at the pile of clothes in the corner and headed for the shower. He didn’t need any of this bullshit in his life.

Frank and the others worked most of the day non-stop and got caught up on nearly everything that needed done. The radio played in the background the whole time, and the boys took turns clowning around. When “I Get Around” by the Beach Boys came on, Tommy used the wrench he’d been using as a microphone and lip synced along dramatically. Frank couldn’t help but laugh his ass off at the teen’s antics. The brothers, not to be out done, took it up a notch when the Supremes’ “Baby Love” followed a bit later. Honestly, it was the most that Frank had laughed in years. His face felt strange from all of the smiling he did. In the back of his mind, he knew that he shouldn’t be enjoying himself, not when his family was gone and the world was fucked, but it felt so damned good to let go a little.

When the work was done and the tools were put away, Frank called out to the guys as they headed for the door. “Dinner’s on me tonight guys...unless you ugly bums somehow got girls to go home to,” he offered.

Carlo and Jesus exchanged a look, but Tommy seemed enthusiastic about the idea. In the end, all four of them walked a little ways down the street to a bar and grille. Frank had been there more than a few times for a burger and beer after his day, and he knew it was good enough grub. They settled into a booth in the back and gave their order to the waitress before any of them spoke up.

“What’s her name, boss?” Jesus asked, mischief shining in his dark eyes. Across the table, Tommy gaped at Frank like the idea never entered his mind until that moment.

Frank took a long drink of his beer and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It was a one time thing.”

“I said the same thing fifteen years ago about my Elena,” Carlo said with a grin. It was probably the most the man had ever said in one go over the years, and Frank blinked a few times before what he said actually registered.

“Didn’t know you were married,” he admitted. “She gonna mind that you aren’t home for supper?”

Carlo gave a small shrug. “She works late. The family she cleans for doesn’t believe in time off.”

Frank gritted his teeth. “Rich people sure got some nerve, eh?”

No one asked anything else about Frank’s mystery “woman” or Carlo’s wife. They dug into burgers near the size of a man’s head, and only Tommy seemed to care enough about conversation to put down his meal. The kid went on and on about the car he was gonna save up and buy someday. It didn’t matter much to him that the other three men only gave him the occasional nod as he went. Frank idly wondered if he’d ever talked as much as a kid as Tommy did, but it didn’t actually bother him. In fact, he found the chatter somewhat comforting.

After they parted ways, Frank was still thinking about the strangeness of the day. He’d owned the shop for too damned long not to have ever shared a meal with his guys. It hadn’t dawned on him until that night that he even took his lunch breaks on his own up in his apartment. He hadn’t known that Billy was seeing a girl or that Carlo was married or anything really about them. Something about that stuck in his craw uncomfortably. It was just one more way that Frank had become bitter and disconnected. He wondered if maybe that’s how his dad had started out before the bottle took complete hold over him. The thought was a damn cold one.


	15. Chapter 15

Matt’s heart was lodged in his throat as silence stretched between him and his mother. She stood just in the entry way still holding her bag. He knew he should at least offer to take her load, but he couldn’t force his body to move. This was one of his darkest fears realized, and he wasn’t sure how exactly to fix the damage that had undoubtedly been done. A dozen lies perched on his lips. By the time he chose one, his mother was setting the bag on the counter.

“Mom, I...” he began, shakily.

“Is he a good man?” she asked, interrupting his planned speech.

Swallowing hard, Matt nodded. “As good as I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, Matthew,” Mom sighed, letting out a soft sob. He could smell the salt from her tears as she wept into her hand.

Tears pricked at his own eyes. “God, Mom, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to know. I never wanted to upset you.”

His mother crossed the space between them and swept him into a tight hug. Despite the height difference, he suddenly felt safe in her arms. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him on the cheek half a dozen times before burring her face in his shoulder. The chilling thought that this was her way of saying goodbye flitted into his brain, and he was tempted to pull away, dodging the blow so to speak. Instead, Mom just held him tighter.

“I’ve had a feeling… In my heart, I knew you never wanted to go out with any of those girls I brought home, but I was too afraid to ask if this was the reason why.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll stay away if it’s what you want me to do from now on.”

Mom held his face in both hands, cradling his jaw like she used to when he was a boy. It had been her special way of making sure he knew she was looking him in the eye when she had something important to say. “Matthew Michael Murdock, you will always be wanted at home. You will always be my son, and I will always love you,” she told him. Not once did her heartbeat falter.

The tears that had been threatening to fall from Matt’s eyes streamed down his cheeks freely as his whole body sagged with relief. “I love you, too, Mom,” he said, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“All these years, I’ve watched you build walls around you. You’ve pushed everyone out except the family, and I sometimes wondered if you would have done that too, if we’d let you. My biggest fear was always that you wouldn’t let anyone in, wouldn’t let them see how wonderful you really are. I was so scared that you’d be alone. If Mr. Castle is a good man and good for you, then I am happy you’ve found him,” she insisted. “I’m so happy you’re not alone.”

“I might still end up alone, Mom,” he said with a bitter laugh. “Frank’s got walls that make mine look like sidewalk curbs.”

His mom chuckled and squeezed his hand. “I have a feeling a man who does what you do in your spare time is used to climbing over obstacles.”

At first. his head can’t take in this second revelation. His mouth gapes like a fish. “W...what do you mean?”

“Did you really think you could go after the man that killed your father in pajamas, and I wouldn’t figure it out? Or that I wouldn’t notice you were always beat to Kansas and back on the nights that Daredevil made an appearance in the news?” she demanded. “I’ll never forget the time I saw you manage to ‘fall’ just at the exact moment your brother accidentally threw the ball too high when he was playing catch with his father in the back yard. I may not fully understand how you do what you’ve been doing, but I don’t doubt for a moment that you’re capable of it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Matt asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

She shrugged. “Because your a grown man, and you’re old enough to make your own decisions—even ones that I hate and wish you’d change your mind on.”

The end up settling on the couch while Matt comes clean about mostly everything—his senses and why he became Daredevil. He leaves out the bit about his mother inadvertently inviting a spy to dinner. His gut instinct is that it will make her paranoid, and she worries more than thirty possibly could about what he’s doing. Most of her questions involve just how much danger he’s willing to let himself into—that part, he bends the truth to as well. He manages to brush most of his exploits off as being hyped up by the reporters, but he can tell she only partly believes him. It’s a gray area they can both live with. By the time they make their way back to Frank as the topic of conversation, he’s made them each a cup of coffee.

“So how did you meet Frank?” she asks slyly.

“Remember back in high school when you and Karen read me the riot act for going on a motorcycle ride during a school dance?” he asked, sheepishly. “Well, we met up again. He’s Aunt Sally’s boss, so when she came in for a favor for her co-worker she brought him with her.”

Mom laughed wryly. “To think we actually have Sally to _thank_ for something for once.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it was possible either, but I suppose I should write her a note or something. How does _‘thanks for bringing the man I’ve been dreaming about for fifteen years back into my life’_ sound? I’ll even send her flowers,” he quipped.

“Well, I’m just surprised that he’s the same man she’s been complaining about all these years,” Mom mused. “I would have expected him to look like a troll from under a bridge, but he’s quite a handsome man, in a unique sort of way. I suppose you already know that, though.”

“I have an idea,” Matt confirmed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the memory of Frank’s skin pressed against his own.

“He’s the rugged sort, but he has very kind brown eyes. That hair of his is black as sin and needs cutting. He reminds me of the villains in the westerns Ted likes so well. I could picture him dressed in black with a gun at his hip,” she mused with a chuckle. “He looks like a rascal, but you’ve always been too good. Maybe you need a rascal in your life.”

Matt snorted.

His mother let out a long sigh.“I know you are a little nervous about it, but at some point you will have to tell the rest of the family. I won’t say a word about either. It’s your choice when to tell them, but these are big pieces of your life. They deserve to know.”

Matt dipped his head and fingered the edge of his mug. “Do you think Uncle Ted will have a problem with it?”

“You’re not the first man to ever be attracted to other men, Matthew. Your uncle may not understand it, but he loves you. That’s not going to change when you tell him,” she assured him, squeezing his hand tightly.

After his mother left, Matt felt like his chest was practically weightless. It was the first time since before his father died—before he lost his sight, even—that he felt truly at ease. His secrets were mostly out in the open with one of the people he loved the most. The feeling of freedom was almost like a high. He couldn’t stop smiling as he went about his day.

It wasn’t until late in the day that he had the smile wiped from his face. He’d been making himself a modest dinner when he heard Coulson’s dress shoes followed by Agent Carter’s sensible heels step out of the elevator. Groaning, he met them at the door, not bothering to wait for them to knock before he opened it wide. Coulson let out an amused noise from his throat, but Agent Carter didn’t react to the gesture.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked dryly, stepping aside to let them in.

“Good evening, Mr. Murdock,” Agent Carter murmured in an even, oh-so-British tone. “I do apologize for bothering you at home, but it can’t be helped.”

Coulson was less polite, matching Matt’s own directness. “Why did you refuse to give Agent Simmons a blood sample?”

“Oh, Phillip,” Agent Carter sighed before Matt could answer. “I think the explanation he gave Agent Simmons was more than understandable.”

“Thank you, Agent Carter,” Matt said, crossing his arm over his chest.

She let out a triumphant puff of air. “Yes, dear, you were being very reasonable. But that’s why you are going to give it to me instead. I will personally make sure that Howard only preforms the tests absolutely necessary for this endeavor. After-which, I will also personally see that the blood samples are destroyed. Is that not also reasonable?”

Any warm feelings he’d had a second earlier had faded, but he did march into the living room dutifully and begin rolling up his sleeve. She was, at least, being honest about keeping his blood from being used for less than savory purposes. Still, he didn’t feel too much better about it. “Does anyone ever win an argument with you, Agent Carter?”

“Only very rarely. I find that if I don’t let Daniel win every now and again it makes life a bit too dull,” she admitted with a laugh.

Coulson helped himself to a spot on the sofa as Agent Carter pulled the necessary supplies from her bag. Matt took a seat on the other end glumly.

“Did anything turn up at the cabin after I left? Or in Frank’s blood?” he asked.

“The cabin was wiped clean of any evidence that anyone other than Billy and Frank were ever there,” Coulson replied. “The gun was a pretty unremarkable issue, and other than Frank’s word, we have nothing to prove that the it didn’t belong to Billy. Also, the trajectory of the bullet and powder residue on his hands are pointing to the wound being self-inflicted. Even the note seems to back up this theory. All in all...”

“Everything fits together a little too nicely,” Matt finished.

Agent Carter slipped the needle into Matt’s vein with very little fuss and began drawing vials. “The strange substance in both Mr. Everett and Mr. Castle’s blood samples is the only thing that clearly indicates any sort of foul play,” she noted, holding a bit of gauze to the tiny hole left by the needle. “Howard hasn’t been able to identify it as of yet. The levels of it that were in Mr. Everett’s blood were quite concentrated, though. Mr. Castle’s less so, but he was also not effected as strongly as you were.”

“The scent wasn’t like anything I’ve encountered before,” Matt confirmed. “It wasn’t a particularly strong smell, but there was something intense about it… if that makes any sense at all. Do you think it could still be in my system?”

“That’s one of the things we intend to find out,” Agent Carter said plainly.

“Have you contacted Frank with any of this?” Matt asked, unrolling his sleeve.

“There’s no reason for Mr. Castle’s further involvement. The cabin’s been wiped clean, and we will release the body with an appropriate cover story once this is all figured out. The less people in on this the better,” Coulson answered sharply.

Something rankled deep in Matt’s gut. “Frank’s not just going to let this one go. He promised to protect that kid and so did I. You can’t expect him to just walk away. You just can’t ask that of him.”

A silence dragged where neither of the agents spoke.

“Jesus,” Matt muttered. “You want _me_ to do it.”

“It would be in everyone’s best interest,” Agent Carter said firmly. “Mr. Castle is untrained and has no jurisdiction...”

“And from a legal stand point, I do?” Matt spat out incredulously. “I’m very aware that I’m a costumed vigilante who brushes off the law regularly. Do I have any right to tell Frank not to be in this?”

Coulson let out an exasperated sigh. “Murdock...”

“No! I won’t do it! Either Frank’s in on this, too, or I’m out.”

“Mr. Murdock, I won’t accept a resignation from you just yet, but I do think it’s time for cooler heads to prevail.” Agent Carter angled her shorter frame between the two men. “We’ll leave you in peace.”

Peace turned out to be elusive. After the agents were gone, Matt took his costume to a quiet place and changed. Since being caught by S.H.I.E.L.D., he’d been setting out from random parts of the city rather than his apartment. He supposed since he’d been caught going in and out of Candace’s place that it would be a matter of time before someone caught him at his own home. Not a full ten minutes after he stashed his clothes and put on the suit, he heard cries from a few blocks over. It was a robbery that time, followed by a dozen other petty crimes keeping him from thinking too hard on the events of the day. By the time he was done, his body was crying from exhaustion and his head was still a mess. He drug himself back across the rooftops of the Kitchen to the one place he knew he shouldn’t go.

Pausing on the fire escape, Matt gave himself a second to ponder if he really wanted to deal with all that he knew crossing foot into Frank’s apartment would bring. The only answer he could fathom is “yes”. He wanted to see Frank again, no matter the storm it would bring into his life. He needed to tell Frank about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finds back at the cabin, but more than that, he needed to let Frank know that he wasn’t going to give up on finding out what happened to Billy. He wouldn’t let himself think of the dozen other reasons he just needed Frank at that moment. It wasn’t the right time, and Matt knew it.

From inside the apartment, Matt could hear Frank up and moving. It was well after three in the morning, but that didn’t seem to matter much. He was sitting at his kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Even from the fire escape, Matt could smell the liquor mixed with beer on him. Knocking on the window, he expected Frank to startle at the sound, but the veteran didn’t. He was also steady on his feet as he crossed the room to let the vigilante in.

“Had a feelin’ you might drop by,” he muttered with a hint of whiskey roughening his voice.

“Were you hoping to be wrong about that?” Matt asked.

Frank let out a small dry chuckle. “To be honest, Red, I ain’t exactly sure. But now that you’re here… Well, I’m not about to kick you out. Want a drink?”  
“Sure,” Matt agreed. He followed Frank into the kitchen and slipped off his mask and gloves. “Coulson and his boss paid me a visit today.”

“What’d they find?” Frank slid a half full tumbler across the table for Matt before refilling his own glass.

“Whatever it was that was messing with us in the cabin was pretty concentrated in Billy’s blood. They don’t know exactly what it is, though,” he said flatly. He took a long drink to give himself a second before spilling the bad news. “But they are pretty sure the gunshot wound was self-inflicted. I’m sorry, Frank.”

“Fuck.” The word came out as barely a whisper. Frank downed most of his drink in one go and started pouring without bothering to finish up the rest. “That doesn’t make any god damned sense. The kid wanted to live. He wanted to survive this shit. Why would he kill himself?”

Matt shrugged for lack of anything else to do. “I don’t know. Maybe they threatened his family. Maybe they had something over him that we didn’t know about.”

“Who gets the pleasure of telling his ma that her baby blew his brains out?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to stage things after the investigation. Until then, I guess, things are on a need to know basis,” Matt replied bitterly.

“And I’m one of those that don’t need to know, eh? That’s why Coulson wasn’t knockin’ on my door,” Frank spat. “S.H.I.E.L.D. really is a bunch of assholes.”

“They are. That’s why I told them I won’t be a part of anything unless they let you in. I told them that you deserved to know what’s going on, and that you weren’t going to just let this be.” Matt could feel the weight of Frank’s silent gaze on him. He finished his drink and set the glass back on the table before getting unsteadily to his tired feet. “I should get going.”

“Stay.”

It was one of those rare times when Matt was sure that his super-ears were deceiving him. He frowned a little. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Red,” Frank said in that whiskey laced voice. The roughness of it was already sending chills down Matt’s spine. “Stay. You don’t wanna leave, and despite everything I keep telling myself, I don’t want you to go.”

“Are you sure?” Matt asked. He wanted to stay with Frank. God, did he want to touch and taste his skin all over again. He wanted Frank’s cock buried deep inside of him, and he wanted to feel his sharp stubble burning across his skin. In all of Matt’s life, he had never wanted anything so badly, but he didn’t want to push. He didn’t want Frank to let him stay out of obligation or loneliness.

Frank grabbed Matt’s hand and pulled him onto his lap. “You’re a fucking whirlwind. Every bit of certainty I’ve had in my life gets blown to hell and back when you’re near me, but Christ help me, I can’t say that I don’t want you here.”

Matt’s throat was too tight to form words, so he did the only thing he knew was right at that moment: he leaned in and kissed Frank for all he was worth.


	16. Chapter 16

Frank never imagined that he could feel the kind of peace that he did waking with Matt in his arms for the second day straight. It was like that constant ache that had always been there was soothed by the redhead’s mere existence. Having Red’s body against his quieted the beast that had always been growling and snarling in his gut. The thought that he didn’t deserve this still skirted at the edge of his mind, but at the moment Frank couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. He gently pushed at a stray bit of hair that had fallen over Red’s brow in his sleep and watched as the vigilante’s eyes twitched beneath their lids.

“Too early,” he mumbled, nuzzling tighter against Frank’s chest.

With a harrumph of agreement, Frank pulled the covers over both of their heads. He held onto Red without a single reservation. His free hand couldn’t resist running down the valley of Red’s spine and back up again.

“You’re not sleeping,” Red chided, despite his cat like sounds of appreciation.

Frank chuckled. “Neither are you.”

“Only because you’re keeping me up,” the lawyer whined with a yawn twisting the middle of the sentence a bit.

“D’ya really mind?”

Red bit his lip and arched a copper brow. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

“How ‘bout I get out of bed and take stroll down to the bakery down the block? I don’t have much besides coffee to put in our bellies, and I bet the whole island of Manhattan can hear yours roaring. You can stay in my bed naked and wait for me to bring you breakfast.” Frank moved his touch to the edges of Matt’s shoulder blades.

“Now I’m hungry for more than just food.”

“Oh, yeah?”

In response Red rolled over and began kissing his way from Frank’s Adam’s apple to his navel. His tongue swiped at the stretch of skin just above Frank’s pubic hair, and any thoughts of leaving that bed disappeared damn quick. “Christ, Red!” he swore as a nose was suddenly nuzzling into the thick thatch of curls. Frank gripped at the sheets so hard they nearly tore.

“I want to taste you,” the little shit said coyly, letting his breath wash over the length of Frank’s cock.

“Fuck!” Frank’s hips bucked of their own accord as Matt continued to tease. “Need you, Red!”

The little shit had the balls to smirk at him before skimming his tongue against the tip. “What do you need me to do?”

By now, fire was racing through Frank’s veins. He couldn’t recall ever begging before, but damned if he wasn’t going to now. The man in his bed did all kinds of things to Frank that he’d never experienced before. “Need your mouth, Red,” he pleaded between ragged breaths. Each swipe of Red’s tongue sent him nearer to the edge. Frank’s dick was weeping pre-cum. There was something about Red that drove him insane. “Please suck me!”

Those cherry lips curled into a wolfish grin.“Gladly.”

Frank saw stars the instant his cock slid into Red’s mouth. For a “good Catholic boy”, Matthew Murdock could suck a cock better than the cream of the crop in any brothel. Those perfect lips of his were meant to be wrapped around the base of Frank’s shaft. If the initial thrust into Matt’s mouth had taken him to the sky, Frank was thrust into heaven when Red took him to the back of his throat. The high was better than anything he’d ever known.

Maria had sucked him off reluctantly every blue moon or so, and those couple times in the Marines had been hurried at best. Those times had been nothing more than a quick way to scratch an itch. This was different; this was Red—the fantasy he had always kept tucked in the back corner of his mind turned flesh and blood. This was a man who wanted him just as badly as Frank wanted him. That knowledge alone made him as horny as a teenage boy with a hair trigger.

“Christ, Red!” he swore, threading his fingers through Red’s hair. “I’m close!”

He could have sworn he heard a bit of a satisfied grunt come from the other man, but he was beyond processing it. His cum flowed from his body, and Red lapped it up like it was fucking ice cream. Frank’s head was spinning, and it felt like his lungs had forgotten to work.

“I could live on the taste of you alone forever,” Red said, licking at his lips.

All Frank could do was let out a shuddering breath in response. He’d never been particularly keen on kissing anyone who’d just had a mouth full of his cum, but he needed to kiss Red just the more than he’d needed anything in his life. He devoured Red’s mouth, feeling drunk on the taste of himself on those perfect lips.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you, Red?”

The vigilante rolled on his side and stretched out like an over-grown orange tom cat. “Help me go get the clothes I stashed two blocks from here and then take me out for breakfast.”

“Fuck, Red. You’re really something,” Frank murmured with a laugh.

Red ended up wearing a shirt and a pair of slacks from Frank’s closet. The shirt was a little big, but the clothes were clean and serviceable for a day. They grabbed Red’s bag, and he took out only his glasses and cane. Frank certainly didn’t mind the look of Red’s damaged eyes, but the blind man seemed reluctant to bear them to whole world.

Once everything was in place, they headed down the block to a diner Frank liked. Along the way, it occurred to Frank that the only way they got away with walking arm-in-arm was that it was largely assumed that Red was incapable of doing so on his own. Frank was both grateful for the excuse to touch and pissed at the unfairness of it all. He didn’t need super ears like Red’s to hear an elderly woman commenting to her husband, “such a sad thing to see, but at least he has a friend to take care of him.” He’d been tempted to storm after the old biddy and tell her that Red regularly swung from buildings and took on the likes of Namor, but Red tightened his grip on Frank’s arm.

“I’m used to it,” he sighed once the couple was well behind them.

Frank ground his teeth. “It’s still bullshit.”

Red shrugged. “When I first lost my sight, there was a doctor who made a point to tell my father that he should lower his expectations for me and prepare to have me at home well into adulthood. Thankfully, Dad ignored him, but it still taught me that I would have to ignore a lot of naysayers to get where I wanted to be. I’ve learned it’s better to prove them wrong than to argue.”

“So what you’re tellin’ me is that I better learn how to keep my yap shut?” Frank grumbled, not liking the idea one bit. If he had his way, he’d take on every person who thought Red was any less because of his blindness. He’d fight every single one tooth and nail, but that wasn’t what Red was asking of him.

“Pretty much,” Red agreed with a resigned smile. “Dad tried to fight my battles for me before he died. That hurt a hell of a lot worse than what anyone else had to say about me.”

Frank let out a grunt of agreement, chewing the thought over. Before finding out Red was Daredevil, had he ever thought Red was less than capable? It stung to admit it, but every now and again, he had. He could still remember thinking for a fleeting moment that a blind kid shouldn’t be out on his own back outside that school dance. If he was totally honest with himself, he would even admit that he’d been surprised that a guy with his disability had made it through law school. Both times, he’d assumed that he knew what Red could or could not do without even asking him. Shame shot through Frank’s gut like a knife.

Red elbowed him lightly. “It doesn’t bother you that I can’t see, does it?” he asked, attempting and failing to keep his tone light.

“Of all the shit I’ve worried about in this thing between us, that one never crossed my mind,” Frank answered honestly.

“Fair enough,” Red replied with a laugh.

The diner Frank took them to that day was one of his favorites. His favorite waitress was a dark haired, plump woman in her fifties. She always looked at Frank like he was something that came off her shoe and never failed to let him know when he looked a little scruffy. “If it ain’t our resident beatnik,” she huffed as the pair slid into Frank’s usual booth. Her eyes darted to Red’s cane and glasses, but she didn’t seem too concerned. “Frank here takes black tar for coffee, do you want the same, sweetie?”

Red turned on the charm and gave her a million-watt smile. “I like it black, too. But if you have any coffee that doesn’t need chewing, I’ll take it.”

“Sure thing,” she said, returning the smile. “Up on the special board we’ve got a hot roast sandwich or an open faced meatloaf plate. Pie today is cherry, coconut cream, and apple. Soup’s chowder or chili. The menu itself is your basic fare, but I’m sure Frank here’ll be glad to read it to you if you’re looking for something specific.”

Frank sat there dumbfounded for a minute before he’d realized that not only was the old gal being polite, she was actually being helpful without making a big deal of it. He always tipped her well, but he made silent promise to add extra from now on. He snorted in amusement. “For a guy who don’t much care for women, you sure attract them like bees to a daisy.”

“I just don’t like them romantically,” Red corrected in a whisper. He shrugged. “The ones who aren’t flirting or trying to baby me are just fine.”

Using the power of that nose of his, Red determined that the meatloaf smelled better than the beef. They both ordered the same and weren’t disappointed. After the meal, Frank goaded Red into eating a slice of pie. They left the diner with full bellies and content smiles. True to his silent promise, Frank had even dropped an extra dollar on the table on their way by.

With no work or even real plans between them, they meandered the streets of the kitchen. Frank would comment now and again on what he saw, and in return, Red would let him in on the secrets his heightened senses shared with him alone.

They ended up at a tiny park near the edge of the neighborhood. Lazing on a bench, they got to enjoy a baseball game between two teams of local kids. Once the children realized they had spectators, they made sure to ham it up for the men. Red picked one team to cheer on while Frank rooted for the other. It became obvious right off the bat that no one was keeping score. Littler kids got almost endless swats at the ball, and everyone seemed to know that one girl in overalls would hit a homer nearly every time. There was an ice cream cart on the edge of the park—Red actually pointed out by his nose alone before anyone else noticed it—and the adults paid for both teams to get a treat at the end of the game.

The sun was just beginning to set when they made it back to Red’s apartment. From his time in the sun, the Irishman’s complexion had taken on a pink hue across his cheeks and nose, but he didn’t seem to mind. Red touched the bridge of his nose with a sheepish grin. “Let me guess,” he said wryly, “ the sun didn’t even touch you?”

“That’s the advantage of being a whop instead of a mick,” Frank admitted with chuckle. He kissed a particularly angry looking spot on Red’s cheek bone.

Red sighed. “I am not looking forward to putting on the mask tonight.”

And just like that, the dream that Frank had spent the day in faded. Reality seeped in from all angles. He was suddenly aware that they’d not even mentioned Red’s work as Daredevil, S.H.E.I.L.D, or Billy all day. They hadn’t so much as thought about any of it. Guilt gnawed at Frank’s gut like a starving dog on a meaty bone.

“I should head out to see an old friend of my pop’s,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Red opened his mouth to say something, but must have thought better of it. He set his jaw and nodded. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Same goes for you, Daredevil.”

 

 


End file.
